Transient
by Glass Shoe
Summary: With Ed suffering from what he thinks is the seasonal flu the Elric brothers track a rogue alchemist in a town outside of East City.
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** Transient

**Fandom:** Fullmetal Alchemist

**Rating:** PG

**Category:** Gen

**Approximate length:** 65,000

**Summary:** With Ed suffering from what he thinks is the seasonal flu the Elric brothers track a rogue alchemist in a small town outside of East City.

**Spoilers:** This story takes place about a year before the boys go to Lior. Anything that happened before that is fair game. This was originally intended to belong to the first anime universe, however as it progressed I began to see that I really wanted it to belong to the manga 'verse. If you're willing to ignore references to Youswell (which the boys visited after Lior in the manga) it can pretty much belong to any 'verse.

**Disclaimers:** I don't own Fullmetal Alchemist. This story was written for entertainment only. I'm not making any money.

**Notes:** This was written as an excuse for hurt/comfort. Also angst. Don't forget about the angst. Somewhere along the line it developed a plot and several original characters and I… just went with it. I hope that the result is passable and that my original characters don't detract from the plot. A final note: this story starts out funny and becomes angsty. Consider yourself warned.

Also, all mistakes are my own. Please forgive them.

Also, also, if you are a fan of Fullmetal Alchemist and haven't read the manga, you should read it, even if you think you're too old for comics. You're not.

Please Enjoy.

* * *

PART 1

"I swear, Al, he's doing this on purpose just to piss me off!" Ed fumed. Then he muffled a wet cough in his elbow.

From the seat across from him Al stared expressionlessly back. That wasn't unusual. Al was a soul affixed to a suit of armor, and wasn't really capable of forming expressions. His gentle voice and mannerisms however were so expressive in themselves that it hardly mattered that he couldn't make his helmet smile or frown.

Behind them a female passenger hustled her two kids out of their seats and retreated several rows to crowd in with the rest of the passengers whom Ed's colorful rants and continuous coughing had already frightened away. That left Ed and Al half of a train car all to themselves.

They'd been three weeks on the road this time, chasing down what turned out to be a false lead on the philosopher's stone, a false lead placed in front of them by none other than the bastard colonel himself.

"Don't be so negative, brother," Al scolded him gently. "The colonel wouldn't have sent us without a good reason. Think about all of the people we helped."

That was true enough. Ed's "routine inspection" of an often-ignored military base in the south had uncovered a black market run by a corrupt lieutenant colonel and his staff. The lieutenant colonel, interestingly enough, had been Mustang's rival for a number of promotions both past and present. With him in the stockade in Central and a vacant slot in the south, which was likely to be filled by another one of Mustang's counterparts, Ed had managed to remove not one but two colonels who might have stood between Mustang and another stripe on his shoulder.

"The man wouldn't wipe his nose if he wasn't politically motivated," Ed grumbled.

Speaking of wiping noses, Ed sniffled and brought a handkerchief out of his coat pocket to wipe his own nose, which was no doubt as bright a red and his coat. He was bringing back a souvenir from the south: this winter's strain of the spring flu, the creeping crud that had been terrorizing the locals when he and Al passed through town. Ed had no doubt that he'd contracted it from the inn-keeper's three-year-old, an adorable pig-tailed little tyke who enjoyed putting everything in her mouth, including her fingers, then sticking said fingers up Ed's nose.

And laughing about it.

Ha ha.

Ed sneezed.

"You should visit a doctor once we get back to East City," Al suggested. "Maybe they can give you something for your cough."

Ed almost dismissed the idea, but then he started having insubordinate thoughts about making Colonel Mustang wait for his report. The colonel always seemed to know his and Al's whereabouts, what they'd been up to, what they planned to do next, what Ed had eaten for breakfast, those kinds of things. Ed would bet half his research budget that Mustang knew which train they'd be arriving on this afternoon and had calculated how long it would take them to get from the station to headquarters depending on whether or not they took a cab and how many pedestrians their driver had to stop for along the way. Any activity with the potential to throw Mustang off their trail and Mustang's plans off track was worth doing, even if it involved smelly medical clinics and doctors with needles.

He told Al as much, and probably said it loudly enough for the Fuhrer himself to hear back in Central.

Stupid Mustang.

Stupid cold.

Ed sneezed again, but this time he didn't bring his sleeve up in time to cover his face.

"Oh…Sorry, Al."

Ed pulled the sleeve of his coat over his hand and started to wipe Al's breastplate.

"Good thing a suit of armor can't catch cold, right Al?" Ed said, trying his best to sound remorseful.

Al made a tinny, hollow and slightly exasperated sound. Ed recognized the noise. It was the closest sound Al, in his metal body, could make to a sigh.

"Brother, why don't you try to get some sleep? We still have a couple of hours until we get to the city…and I think you could use it."

Ed dropped his hands and gripped the wooden bench on either side of himself, trying to summon up enough irritation at the hard seat to keep himself upright, but either the seat wasn't as hard as he thought or his cold had depleted his normally well-fortified reserves of anger, because he found himself laying down on his side, head pillowed on his left arm.

Ed couldn't wait to get back to headquarters. He closed his eyes and tried to work out a plan to get a few unsupervised minutes alone in Colonel Bastard's office so that he could lick each and every one of the man's ink pens.

A few seconds later –or, what felt like a few seconds later- Ed was being shaken awake by a large metal hand. "We're here, brother. You have to get up."

Ed's sleep-clouded brain was having trouble assigning meaning to the words, but Ed's body responded instinctively to the urgent tone of his brother's voice.

Ed hauled himself upright and slid gracelessly off the bench seat. The train had stopped. Aside from the two of them, the passenger car was empty.

"You must have been tired. I had a hard time waking you up."

Ed indicated his agreement by yawning hugely.

Ed began searching for his old brown suitcase only to find that Al had already retrieved it from the luggage rack. Ed was too tired to bother changing the status quo so he settled for traipsing after his brother through the empty passenger car and down onto the platform.

"At least it stopped raining," Al said brightly.

Ed looked up. The sky was dark and the clouds were hanging low and ominous with unshed precipitation. More rain on the way. Ed could feel the pressure change in his stumps as an aching fullness where flesh met automail.

The platform was empty as well. He and Al must have been the last ones off the train. It bothered Ed a little, having slept through that much activity. In a way it echoed the most important lesson that Teacher had ingrained in them during their training.

All is one.

One is all.

Ed was one person, a small part of the All, the world. If he died tomorrow, the world would continue on without him.

And Mustang would find some other pawn to help him further his ambitions.

The walk to headquarters wasn't terrible, maybe only a half dozen kilometers or so, and covering the distance on foot usually helped take the edge off of Ed's temper before he trudged into the colonel's office. Today, with the clouds threatening to open up and drown them Ed didn't even pretend to need the exercise.

Ed dozed during the taxi ride as well, forehead pressed against the window. His skin left a foggy halo on the glass when they arrived at their destination.

Ed paid the driver and tipped him well, because he had the cash and he could.

The taxi pulled away from the curb. Ed looked up and saw the red cross on the white field, groaned out loud and wished that he could take his money back. Not all of it, just a little, enough to compensate him for the pain and suffering of a visit to the doctor.

"Come on, brother. You'll get soaked if you stay out here," Al rationalized. It still took a firm hand on his upper arm to guide him into the building.

Silver pocket watch or no Ed had to wait for over an hour in a lobby full of sniveling children and old people before being seen by a doctor with a cleaned and pressed white coat and slightly bloodshot eyes.

Ed was used to his automail arm drawing stares and inspiring curiosity, but the doctor didn't even bat an eye when Ed removed his shirt. Ed guessed that he was enough of a fixture here in East City that the man had already known who he was treating. Or it might have had something to do with the medical history questionnaire that Al had filled out for him in the waiting room ("I know you don't like milk, brother, but I don't think you're allergic.").

The doctor pressed his cold stethoscope against Ed's back and listened to his breathing, then consulted the thermometer that he'd placed under Ed's tongue.

"Seasonal flu," he pronounced on a tired sigh, scrawling something illegible onto a small square pad of paper. "It's going around. Get plenty of rest, drink plenty of fluids and get this filled." The doctor hesitated for an instant, then seemed to decide that Al was the more responsible person in the party, and handed him Ed's prescription. "Stay dry out there, boys."

Ed wanted to be annoyed that Al had again been mistaken for the head of his family but he still had to see Mustang and deliver his report and probably listen to a lecture over whatever indiscretion they'd committed this time in the name of the state. The afternoon stretched ahead of him like a long, steep muddy hill and he didn't have the mental energy to waste being angry with a stranger.

Ed hopped off the exam table. "We'd better get to headquarters."

Al held up Ed's prescription. The little square of paper looked very out of place in his big metal hand. "Not before we get your prescription filled," he said firmly.

Ed huffed out a breath.

Get some rest. Sure. Right.

East headquarters wasn't nearly as labyrinthine as Central headquarters but it still took Ed and Al a good twenty minutes of traipsing up stairs and down drafty corridors to reach Colonel Mustang's office. By the time they got there Ed didn't even have any mud left on his shoes that he could track on the colonel's carpet.

Out of habit, Ed raised his left hand to knock. His right hand tended to leave dents in wood. If he'd been thinking a little clearer he would have happily dented the colonel's door.

Master Sergeant Cain Fuery greeted them with a surprised but pleased, "Edward, Alphonse!"

"Hey Sergeant."

Fuery paused, taking in Edward's appearance with his narrow eyes, "Whatsamatter, Ed. You sick?"

Ed waved his hand dismissively. "Nah, just a cold." He could feel Al's disapproving stare boring holes into the top of his head.

"Oh, lucky for you that you weren't around last week. The whole office was down with the flu."

"Even the colonel?" Ed asked with growing disappointment.

"Yup. All of us. Sick as dogs. There's a nasty bug going around. I bet you're glad you missed it."

"Uh huh."

"Well, come on in. The colonel was expecting you a few hours ago."

"Yeah, got sidetracked. Sorry." Wait. Why the hell was he apologizing? Hadn't it been his intention to keep the colonel waiting? Oh, but then his fake excuse had turned into a legitimate one. Right. And he couldn't even give Colonel Bastard the flu because he'd already had it. This day was just one heaping helping of disappointment after another.

Colonel Roy Mustang was parked at his desk behind a stack of paperwork that looked more intimidating than the written part of the state alchemy exam.

"Fullmetal," the colonel greeted him flatly, "nice of you to squeeze us into your schedule today. I know that you're _short_ on time."

It took all of his self control not to rise to the bait. That would mean he'd have to tell Mustang that he'd caught a cold and Al had dragged him to a doctor. Ed was not about to admit weakness in front of the colonel. Instead he flopped disobediently onto Mustang's sofa.

"That was a bad lead you gave us, Colonel."

"Oh, was it? Seems you too had a relatively productive trip." Mustang picked up a small stack of paper and began leafing through it, "You disrupted a smuggling operation, uncovered a military-run black market, which, by the way, resulted in the arrest and prosecution of twelve commissioned officers including South city's base commander and more than twice that number of NCOs. Seems they had dirt on their hands from all kinds of illegal activities including…"

Mustang paused as he turned the page, probably for dramatic effect, Ed thought bitterly. Ed wouldn't be shocked if the documents in the colonel's hands were all blank.

"…counterfeiting gold and other precious metals and stones."

"Yeah," Ed ground out, fists tightening on his knees, "stones."

"All in all a successful mission I'd say. Well done."

But Ed was still seething, "You knew the stone was a counterfeit didn't you, sir?"

Mustang's expression didn't change, but the teasing note dropped out of his voice and he became serious. "I suspected that was the case. I couldn't be sure until I sent someone out there now, could I?"

Ed was incensed over being used, but that was what he'd signed up for. He was the military's lap dog. He was using them, their money and resources for his own purposes: to get his and Al's bodies back to normal. For the time being he would have to let them use him as well. Besides, he couldn't fault the colonel's logic. If there had even been the slightest chance that the lead had been a good one, Ed would have traveled there on his own regardless of what the military wanted him to do. After all was said and done he'd still be in the same position he was now: sitting on Colonel Mustang's couch with a cold, fighting the urge to wipe his runny nose on his sleeve.

The last few weeks on the road caught up with Ed all at once, and he suddenly felt very tired.

"Am I dismissed now, Colonel?"

"Not quite yet."

Mustang began to shuffle through the papers on his desk, finally turning up a file.

"Excuse me, Colonel," Al interrupted. The hollow sound of his voice was unexpected. Al usually kept quiet when Ed reported to the colonel. More often than not he didn't stick around at all, preferring to use the time that Ed was occupied to continue their research. Ed wasn't even sure why he had chosen to stay today, then a thought occurred to him and he almost groaned out loud.

"What is it, Alphonse?"

Ed aimed a frosty glare over his shoulder, which Al stubbornly ignored, "Brother isn't well. You should let him go to the dormitories and get some rest before you send him on another assignment."

Ed felt his eyebrow twitch in irritation.

Mustang leaned over his desk to peer more closely at Ed. Ed shrank under his scrutiny. "Hmm, now that you mention it Al, he does look a little flushed. Has he seen a doctor?"

Teeth clenched, head practically steaming, Ed shoved his hand into his coat pocket and pulled out his prescription, which they'd filled before reporting to headquarters. He held the crumpled white paper baggie containing his medicine at arm's length toward Mustang for a moment as proof before jamming it back into his pocket.

"I see," Mustang sighed, disappointed. "Well, it was only a _little_ assignment, but if you're not feeling up to it I can easily give it to someone else."

Ed jumped up and snatched the file out of Mustang's hand almost before the man had a chance to finish his sentence.

Ed intentionally kept his eyes fixed on the report so that he wouldn't have to see at the smug look on the colonel's face or the disapproving look in his brother's eyes.

"I feel this case suits your talents particularly well, Fullmetal. It doesn't require resolution so much as clarification, if you get my meaning."

By the time Ed finished scanning the first few pages of the report he'd almost forgotten that he wasn't alone in the room. "So someone is impersonating a state alchemist…" he mused.

"And not doing a very good job of it," Mustang added. "No credentials, no falsified orders. The name that he's using, Leon Mueller, doesn't belong to any state alchemist on the books, past or present, and he doesn't match the description of any alchemist I've ever met or heard of. The only reason I got wind of him at all was because I received an angry phone call from a Mrs. Bosch in Rhuel."

Ed located the name on the report. "Wilhelmina Bosch…she wanted you to send someone to fix her back porch." Ed said, puzzled.

Mustang explained, "Apparently the state alchemist that I sent to Rhuel after the earthquake didn't do a very good job of repairing it and the porch collapsed on top of her prize-winning hydrangeas…except that I never sent an alchemist to Rhuel and there was no earthquake reported anywhere else in the region. In fact, the only people who claimed to have experienced the earthquake, according to Rhuel's law-enforcement, all live within roughly five-block radius of Wilhelmina Bosch. I dug a little further and found that a young man calling himself a state alchemist has been making the rounds in Rhuel, helping people repair all kinds of damage done by the 'earthquake', usually with similarly disastrous results."

"Sounds like he's his own worst enemy. So what did you tell Mrs. Bosch?"

"I apologized for the damage and told her that I would send someone to fix her porch right away."

Ed didn't like the meaningful look that the colonel was giving him.

"So I'm a handy man now?" Ed asked.

"Mrs. Bosch's porch would be a good place to start. Try to be inconspicuous. I've notified the local law enforcement to expect you, but so far I haven't told anyone that this 'Leon Mueller' isn't a state alchemist. Your job is to investigate only and report back to me. Don't act without orders. I want to know what kind of game this man is playing."

"Sniff around like a good dog, huh? I can do that," Ed said with equal parts determination and bitterness.

Mustang seemed satisfied. "Good. Rhuel is only about an hour west of here by train. The last one leaves at six-thirty."

Ed nodded, still perusing the report. "Interesting. It says here that he has a silver pocket watch," Ed said in surprise.

"It could be a counterfeit. Or he might have stolen it from someone, though no state alchemist has reported having their pocket watch stolen, not in the last decade."

"Like I said, interesting."

Ed looked up to find Mustang frowning at him, and for the life of him Ed couldn't figure out what he'd done to piss the colonel off already.

"Now that I think about it, this mission can keep for one more day. Why don't you stay in the dorms tonight?"

"What? Why?"

"Give me a little credit, Ed. I can see you're not functioning at one hundred percent and contrary to what you might think I do care about the well being of my subordinates. Wait a day and see how you're feeling. If you're not up to it, I can find someone else to take care of this mission, and I'm not just saying that because of the way your brother is glaring at me, or because Lieutenant Hawkeye will shoot me if you keel over in the street while you're on assignment."

Ed threw a quick glance over his shoulder. As stated, Al's expressionless helmet did somehow seem to be glaring at the colonel.

Riza Hawkeye was sitting at her desk with a pen in her hand and an open file in front of her. "Only in the leg, sir," she verified without emotion.

Ed couldn't think of anything to say but he couldn't get his mouth to close either.

Mustang continued, "Besides, I'm not trying to wage germ warfare on everyone between East City and Rhuel, assuming that there's anyone left within a hundred kilometer radius who hasn't already had the flu this year."

"Hey, how did you-?"

"Get some rest, Fullmetal. Call my office in the morning and we'll talk."

Ed stalked out of the colonel's office, seething and muttering to himself. Al followed placidly behind him and Ed could practically hear Mustang's smug satisfaction echoing in his brother's metallic footfalls. A chorus of: "feel better soon" and "get some rest, chief!" from Mustang's staff followed him out into the rain.

"Stupid Mustang. Thinks he knows everything. I'm going to wipe that smug look off his stupid face."

East City's clock tower stood just outside the gates of the military compound. Ed glanced up and read the time: five forty-five.

He paused in his tracks.

"What is it?" Al asked.

Ed didn't answer.

Al persisted, "Brother, we need to get you out of this rain."

Ed stayed rooted to the spot, scowling as he pictured Colonel Mustang's smirking face.

Five forty-five, huh? That gave him forty-five minutes to make the train. That was more than enough time if he ran.

No sooner was Ed's mind made up than he was off at a dead sprint towards the train station, Al trailing behind him, shouting, "Brother, wait!"

But Ed didn't need alchemy to turn anger into energy. That fact and nothing else kept him well beyond Al's reach the entire way to the train station.

To be continued...


	2. Chapter 2

PART 2

"So what to you think this Leon guy's deal is anyway?"

Ed's voice was scratchy and talking made his throat hurt worse than it already did. He was trying to keep his sentences short so that he didn't start coughing on the train like he had when he and Al had arrived at the train station.

After he'd stopped running and the adrenaline wore off Ed's lungs finally had a chance to have their say. The result was a coughing fit so intense that it wrung the life out of him and left him gasping and doubled over near the water pump. It had taken Ed several minutes to convince himself that he wasn't going to die and several more to talk Al into believing him. By then the last train for Rhuel was pulling out of the station and Ed gave Al no choice but to follow him or get left behind.

From where Ed was sitting, Al still didn't look very convinced.

Ed tried to be circumspect about coughing into his elbow.

"Al?"

"Don't talk to me."

"Aw, c'mon Al. Don't be like that."

"Hmm."

"It's not like I have some horrible disease. I'll get over it. Besides, the military dorms are drafty and the roof leaks when it rains. Rhuel is bound to have better places to sleep."

"So that meant you had to run across half the city?"

Ed sulked, "He was goading me."

"No he wasn't. You always do that. You think everyone is trying to pick a fight with you, even when all they're trying to do is help."

Ed huffed out a sigh, unconvinced. "Stupid Mustang. He always has to be in control of everything. It's my body. What right does he have to tell me how to treat it? Sometimes I envy you, Al."

"Don't, brother," Al said gravely, "I don't have a mortal body. You do. I can't feel hunger or pain. I can't get tired or sick. You can, but sometimes you treat your body like you're the one that's made of steel. You may have an automail arm and leg, but the rest of your body is human and it has limits. Maybe the colonel was trying to remind you of that."

Ed looked down, chastised. "You have a mortal body, Al. It's out there somewhere, and I'll get it back."

"_We'll _get it back," Al corrected him, "and your arm and leg too. But you can't fix anything if you don't get better."

Ed gave him a small smile. "We won't do any digging tonight. Can't get much done in the dark anyway. We'll find an inn, have some dinner and get some sleep, then we can and start out with Mrs. Bosch in the morning."

Finding a place to spend the night once they got to Rhuel, however, turned out to be more problematic than Ed had anticipated.

"Sorry kid, we're full up!"

"Full up? Every room?" Ed asked. He wasn't actually expecting the innkeeper's answer to change. He and Al had heard the same thing at every inn and boarding house they'd visited so far. Ed was just having a hard time getting the meaning of the words to sink in.

"You might want to check at the Foggy Dew," the innkeeper told them. He was cheerfully refilling beer mugs, which he slid across the counter to a young woman. She added them to the other seven mugs on her tray, which she then (very impressively) hoisted into the air with one slender arm and carried into a common room that was filled to the brim with boisterous customers.

"Already checked there," Ed said, feeling deflated.

In fact they'd already checked at every inn in town. This was the last one and the furthest from the train station. Ed's legs were rubbery from his earlier run and he couldn't reconcile having to walk even the few steps it would take to get to the front door. Even if there was a room for them here Ed had no idea how he was going to get himself up the stairs.

"If you don't mind me asking, what exactly is going on in town that all of the inns are full up?" Al inquired politely.

"The annual rock and gem festival!"

"Rock and gem festival?"

"Must be hard to hear under than armor, huh?"

Al looked embarrassed. "Uh, yeah."

"Yeah. It's a big draw. We get jewelers, rock-hounds, geologists, alchemists-"

Ed perked up at the innkeeper's last word. "Alchemists huh?"

"Yep. They're always interested in finding rare minerals to work with."

"I bet they are," Ed said to himself.

Al said, "Brother, we can at least get you some food here. Then we can decide what to do next."

Ed glanced at the tables, already so filled with laughing, drunken patrons that every once in a while someone would get a little rowdy and as a result there would be one less person on a bench and one more sprawled on the floor.

"Eh, I'm not that hungry."

Al sighed, looking as worried as a suit of armor could look.

"It's okay," Ed reassured him, trying to sound upbeat despite his scratchy voice. "We'll figure something out. We always do."

Their plans for food and sleep derailed, Ed and Al asked directions to the local law-enforcement office. Mustang had said that the sheriff would be expecting them anyway, and with nowhere else to go for the night Al reasoned that the sheriff might be able to help them solve their housing problem. For his part Ed was beyond caring. He'd spend the night at the train station if it meant a dry, horizontal surface to lie on. As he trudged down the street on legs he couldn't even feel he purposefully avoided looking up at Al because even though Al couldn't make an "I told you so" expression, Ed knew he was thinking it.

It was dark, Ed was tired and the sign for the sheriff's office was so small that he walked right past it without noticing and probably would have kept walking forever if Al hadn't grabbed a hold of Ed's hood to turn him around. The sudden change in orientation almost sent Ed stumbling face-first into the brick façade of the building.

Al put a steadying hand under Ed's elbow but Ed shook him off irritably. Physical exhaustion begat mental exhaustion and brought Ed's emotions that much closer to the surface. Still, the small hurt sound that Al made when Ed shoved at him was enough to make Ed feel contrite, even if he didn't have the energy to show it.

"Sorry," Ed muttered, then walked in front of Al to avoid the embarrassment of having Al open the door for him.

The sheriff's station was smaller than it looked from the outside. Four cells with two bunks apiece lined one wall. Only one of the cells was occupied at the moment. A gray-haired pot-bellied man wearing uniform and a badge was asleep on one of the bunks and snoring loudly. A second uniformed man sat at a desk across from the row of cells. He wore the badge and rank of a deputy Ed thought that he looked awfully young. Then again "young" was relative. Ed reasoned that the deputy was probably a good four or five years older than he and Al. He was bent studiously over a book, tongue caught between his lips in intense concentration, but he looked up sharply when Al shut the door behind them. He seemed annoyed at the interruption, then when he laid eyes on Al his eyes grew wide.

Ed always felt a sense of smug superiority that his walking fortress of a younger brother was able to intimidate with just a glance, of course then his smugness was inevitably short-lived because then everyone assumed that Al was the Fullmetal Alchemist and Ed was…not.

The deputy opened his mouth.

Ed cut him off. "That the sheriff?" he asked, jerking his thumb toward the man sleeping in the cell.

"Uh…no. Wait, who-?" The young deputy blinked and squinted like he was trying to focus… or trying to wake himself up.

Al stepped in before Ed could do any real damage. "We're alchemists from East City."

The haze of confusion instantly lifted from the deputy's face. "Oh, so you're the state alchemists that my father was expecting?"

The deputy stood and hastily began clearing off the desk, shoving what appeared to be study materials into the drawers. His mannerisms were nervous and apologetic. "Sorry, we didn't expect you until tomorrow. Won't you sit down?"

"Your father?" Ed asked. Ed was a state alchemist. Al was not, but Ed didn't bother to correct the deputy's false assumption.

"Oh, sorry, I'm Mason Biggs. My father is the sheriff. Normally it's just dad and Walter who run the department. I just pitch in during the festival when things get hectic. Otherwise I'm a student at the University."

"Uh huh," Ed said. He was looking enviously at Walter, snoring away on his bunk.

"Um, where is your father?" Al asked.

"He tries to make the rounds every night that the festival is going on. He visits the tourist hot spots, the taverns and the inns, makes sure everyone knows he's around in case there's trouble."

How very proactive of him. Ed wasn't the least bit interested. "So listen, do you know of any place to stay in this town that isn't booked solid?"

"You checked at all of the inns?"

"Wouldn't be asking if we hadn't," Ed replied through gritted teeth.

"Then no, I don't," Mason said helplessly.

They stared at each other for a moment.

"Thanks," Ed said stiffly. "You've been a real help. When did you say the sheriff would be back?"

Mason looked uncertain, "Oh, um- " he shoved his hands in his pockets, presumably looking for a watch.

But Ed was done with polite conversation and done, in general, with Mason. He sighed, "Al, do me a favor and wake me when he gets here."

Uninvited, he staggered into one of the empty cells and flopped onto a bunk, sending up a puff of dust into the still air. Every muscle and bone in his body, hell, even his automail sighed with relief.

"Your partner seems kind of grumpy," Ed heard Mason say. Mason wasn't trying too hard to keep his voice down and Ed made a mental note to be pissed off about that later.

Al made an embarrassed, exasperated noise and said, "He's just tired. We finished a long assignment just before we came here. He's not normally like this."

"Oh," Mason said. He didn't sound the least bit convinced, and Ed couldn't bring himself to care.

There was more to the conversation, but following it required too much effort on Ed's part, so he stopped trying. Al's and Mason's voices, along with Walter's snores, faded to a dull buzz in Ed's ears before sleep drowned them out completely.

Ed dreamed, and his dreams were strange and dark.

He dreamed that he wore a military uniform, blue with white trim, and a tri-corn hat like the one he'd seen Colonel Mustang wear when the weather was bad.

In his dreams, the weather was bad. It rained endlessly. He felt the cold, damp air on his skin. He felt the drops of water hitting his coat, landing on his face and rolling off.

He dreamed that he walked the streets of a strange city in this torrential downpour, alone, going door-to-door, compelled to knock on every residence and business that he came to. He did not know why he was doing this; only that it seemed very important, urgent even. In his hand Ed held a piece of paper, a letter perhaps. It was written in a language that he did not understand. He showed this letter to every person who answered their door, and felt a surge of hope each time he did, but without exception they all shook their heads at him. No, they did not understand. No, they could not help him. No. No. No. One by one these faceless strangers turned him away and closed their doors to him. Back into the rain he would go, moving on doggedly through the streets, knocking on doors, growing more desperate as the rain muddied the writing on the paper and made it impossible to read.

Eventually the words were all gone, washed away, and even the paper the letter was printed on began to disintegrate in his automail hand. Still, Ed continued his quest, knocking on doors in the rain, asking for help. He could feel in his bones that his mission was hopeless, but still he continued, like it was a predestined thing, like he had no choice.

Besides, he didn't know what else to do.

Like different colors of ink running together on wet paper Ed's first dream bled into a second. In his dreams he was often chasing something, or looking for something that he had lost, though he rarely knew what or why. This time he was the one who was lost.

In his dream he was sitting in an unfamiliar green field under an unfamiliar sunny sky. He was surrounded by wildflowers and there was a pleasant, cool breeze. It made the grass ripple around him and lifted his empty right sleeve. Like his right sleeve his left pant leg was also empty, lying like a flattened sack of flour on the grass.

From where Ed sat, on the top of a small hill, he could see a wide dirt road. There were ruts in the road from passing wagons and hoof prints in the hardened clay from farm animals. The air smelled like straw.

Every once and in a while people would pass by him, traveling the road: an old couple in a cart, a man walking beside a cow, a group of schoolchildren. He called out to them, meaning to ask for help, but when they turned their heads to look at him he grew embarrassed. From where they stood they couldn't see his missing limbs through the tall grass. Instead of asking for help he asked the old couple the time. They obliged, but Ed forgot it as soon as they told him. He asked the man with the cow where there was a decent place to sleep and the man just shook his head. The schoolchildren asked him to play. He told them that he couldn't. They started to climb the hill. Afraid that they would see his missing limbs Ed yelled at them to go away. The children grew frightened of him and fled.

A group of farmers came next, lean and sinewy, carrying pitchforks and hoes. He asked them directions to the nearest town, and they said he could follow them if he wanted. Ed thanked them and said that he would, even though he only had one leg and couldn't walk or even stand up by himself. Ed watched them grow smaller and smaller until distance swallowed the farmers completely.

Ed sat there quietly in his field, with his empty sleeve and his empty pant leg, and wanted to cry, but couldn't.

Eventually the real light of day pulled him out of sleep and set him back in his body, the one with two prosthetic limbs, curled up on a bunk in a jail cell.

To be continued...


	3. Chapter 3

PART 3

As Ed woke, reality washed away his dreams, removing the memory of them but leaving behind a dull ache in his chest, an empty hole that he didn't know how to fill.

He woke gradually enough and in an uncomfortable enough position that he remembered exactly where he was (the sheriff's station) and what he'd been doing (getting pissed off at the sheriff's son) before he'd fallen asleep.

Ed could see from the way that the light was slanting through the barred window that it was late morning. The air still felt damp, though not as cold as it had been last night. He supposed that had to do with the pot-bellied stove glowing merrily in the corner, a teakettle sitting on top, whistling softly. Before the kettle could reach ear-piercing volume a tall man with a thick, dark beard stepped into Ed's line of sight and pulled it off the stove. He began to pour steaming water into a mug that he held in his other hand. When he looked up from his task his eyes fell on Ed.

"Oh, good morning, Mr. Elric," he said. His voice was deep, almost rumbling, but upbeat, friendly.

Ed raised his head. Someone, probably Al, had stripped his red coat off of him during the night and laid it across his body like a blanket. Ed sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bunk. His heel came into contact with a moveable object underneath the bunk: his suitcase. Ed knew that was Al's doing too. Al was always picking up after him, cleaning his messes and smoothing things over after Ed had roughed them up. Ed didn't know what he'd do without his younger brother.

The man with the teakettle yawned widely. He said, "Pardon me. Your brother and I stayed up most of the night talking. We don't get much sleep around here during festival time anyway."

Ed glanced around, looking for Al, but it appeared to be just the two of them this morning. Even the bunk that Walter had been sleeping on was empty. Ed noticed the deputy-sized impression in the thin mattress and concluded that Walter's naps were the rule rather than the exception.

"You must be the sheriff," Ed said. His voice was hoarse and he had to clear his throat after he spoke.

"I must be," he agreed. "Greg Biggs," he introduced himself. "You met my son last night?"

Ed's memory coughed up a name, "Mason, yeah." He also remembered how short he'd been with the older boy.

"He's showing your brother around town. Figured you could use the peace and quiet. Tea?" the sheriff offered.

Ed had been hoping for coffee but he supposed he should be polite to make up for his bad manners last night. "Yes, please."

The sheriff poured a second mug of hot water and added some loose tea leaves from a canister on a shelf above the stove. He brought both of the mugs into the cell that Ed had claimed for himself last night and sat down on the bunk across from him. Ed leaned forward to accept the steaming mug from him with a gravelly "Thanks." Even though the liquid was too hot to drink it felt good just to hold the cup near his face and inhale the steam that was wafting off of it. Holding the teacup also gave him an excuse not to shake the sheriff's hand. Shaking hands meant revealing that his right arm was prosthetic, and in Ed's limited experience that usually led to unwanted questions.

"I would have found you a better place to sleep if I had known the two of you were going to be arriving so soon."

"Yeah, sorry about that. It was my decision to change our travel plans at the last minute."

The sheriff waved him off, "Don't be. I appreciate the extra trouble you took to get here so quickly. In fact I'm sorry that we didn't offer you better accommodations last night. Mason and I share the apartment upstairs, when he's not away at school at least. It's small but I think you'll find it much more comfortable than a cot in a jail cell."

"I've slept on worse," Ed said indifferently.

"Still, we haven't been very good hosts, especially since your brother tells me you've been under the weather for a few days."

The word 'under' triggered Ed's automatic response, just like the words 'short', 'small', 'tiny', 'miniscule', 'petite' and any other words that might be used to describe someone's height. The context in which the words were used was unimportant.

"Hey, that's not fair! I haven't even stood up yet!"

The sheriff seemed to take his abbreviated outburst in stride, which gave Ed the sneaking suspicion that Al had primed the sheriff on Ed's temper and his aversion to comments about his stature.

Ed felt sort of betrayed.

Maybe the sheriff hadn't meant to make a joke about Ed's height but the only thing that saved him from having his head bitten off was the fact that Ed still was too tired to give the sheriff a taste of his temper. Ed was more than tired, really. The lure of the hard, lumpy mattress was like a siren's song but he knew that if he let himself lie back down he knew he wouldn't be getting back up for the rest of the day.

As it turned out, Sheriff Biggs was also a mind reader: "If you'd like to rest a little longer-"

Ed perked up. "No, that's alright. The sooner we solve your problem the sooner Al and I can get back to East City."

The sheriff frowned. He seemed more than a little concerned about what Ed was saying and for the life of him, Ed couldn't understand why.

"The colonel said you were young, but I never expected you to be younger than my Mason."

"Experience counts for a lot, you know," Ed ground out.

"No offense intended, young man. Believe me. But you must be how old? Thirteen?"

"Fifteen," Ed told him, even though he was rounding up. He wouldn't be fifteen for a few months.

The sheriff shook his head. "So the military is forcing children to do their dirty work now."

"Nobody's forcing me to do anything. I joined the military for my own reasons." Ed made sure that the firm tone of his voice if not his words communicated that he wasn't about to discuss with him what those reasons were.

Their eyes met for a beat and the sheriff seemed to understand that. He took Ed's statement in stride. "Even so, I'd keep that out of sight if you can help it," he said, pointing to the silver chain that connected Ed's pocket watch to his belt. "You'll find that people around here don't have much appreciation for the military."

It seemed like good enough advice, particularly given that there was an imposter on the loose.

Ed slid his hand down to his belt and he unhooked the chain, tucking it into his pocket.

The sheriff nodded his approval. "I've got no reason to believe that this 'Mustang' isn't as greedy and self-righteous as every other colonel who has been through the Eastern command center, but I'm willing to take a chance. That's more than I can say for the rest of Rhuel."

"Oh, he's self-righteous alright," Ed assured him, "and pompous and arrogant and smug and manipulative…but he's a also a decent leader. If he says he's going to do something, he does it." Although it burned Ed to have to admit it, he knew what he was saying was the truth.

Biggs stared at him for a moment, then his shoulders began to shake and Ed realized that he was laughing.

"What's so funny?"

"That's the most honest answer I've heard out of a military man in my life."

Ed wasn't sure what to say to that, so he drank his tea instead. His sore throat welcomed the relief and he drained it quickly.

"So, tell me about this guy. Leon?"

The sheriff rose to refill Ed's mug and over the next half hour Ed drank his way through almost the entire pot of tea while Biggs explained the circumstances under which Ed had been sent to Rhuel.

Apparently Leon Mueller had appeared in Rhuel about a week ago at the start of the festival. Dozens of people who lived on the east side of town had reported a strong earthquake around the same time. No one was injured and the rest of the town felt nothing and believed that it must not have been very severe, but when Biggs visited the victims to inspect the damage he found collapsed chimneys, cracked foundations, even fissures in the earth, which were all signs of a major upheaval. Before he could make a complete tour of the damaged area he discovered that a young man calling himself a state alchemist had already visited several of the properties and commenced repairs. The homeowners were initially grateful for the help, and even chastised the sheriff for responding more slowly to their plight than a complete stranger. Their gratitude turned to anger and resentment when the repairs that the alchemist had made began to crumble. A chimney collapsed nearly injuring a young girl, a man's roof caved in, and of course they'd already heard about Wilhelmina Bosch and her hydrangeas.

"We'll start there, see if we can't fix things."

"She'll be happy to see you," Biggs smiled at his own comment. Ed wondered what the inside joke was and at the same time dreaded finding out.

Ed trusted his first impressions. The sheriff seemed like a man who knew who he was and where he was going. He had old eyes, the kind you don't get from living a comfortable life in a quiet town.

Ed decided that he liked this man, but at the same time Ed was wary of him.

"So what else did you find out from the victims?" Ed asked.

"Nothing too helpful. They all gave me roughly the same description: a young man in his late teens or early twenties, thin frame, dark hair and dark eyes, dressed in civilian clothes and carrying a silver pocket watch with the state seal embossed on it. He said his name was Leon Mueller, but I've never heard that name before today. Maybe he came here for the festival. I'm not sure. We have a pretty regular crowd during festival time but new faces crop up every year. I've been circulating his description. He's been spotted around town by reliable witnesses on at least three days this past week."

"Someone has to be putting him up," Ed said.

"Right, and the inns have been completely booked up this past week. I have pretty close ties with the innkeepers, so if one of them were housing him, I would know. He must be getting help from someone, a friend or a family member."

"Are you sure he hasn't left town?"

"It's possible, but I don't think so. The only easy way to get in and out of town is by rail. Someone would have spotted him. Besides, it seems like there's more to this story."

"Yeah?"

"The festival draws a lot of scientists from the geological community. When they first heard about the earthquake they were very excited at the possibility of finding a fault line near Rhuel. It was all the talk for the first few days. They began to ask questions and gather information, and what they concluded was that the earthquake couldn't possibly have had a natural cause."

"Rocks and gems seem to be your specialty in this town. There must be mines nearby, am I right?"

"We used to mine for sapphires, but those mines have been played out for twenty years. We import most of our precious stones, but we still have some of the best gem cutters and jewelers in the East. That's what keeps the tourism trade going."

"Could a cave-in in one of the old mines could have caused the earthquake?" Ed asked, narrowing the possibilities down to the inevitable conclusion.

The sheriff shook his head. "Those old mines are in the hills outside of town. There's no way that anyone would have felt the earth move that far away."

Ed nodded. He didn't bother stating the obvious: that the earthquake wasn't an earthquake, but a tremor caused by alchemic reaction.

The sheriff continued, "That's the other reason why I think Leon Mueller might still be around, and why he felt the need to try to help out in the first place."

"Yeah, he feels responsible."

Behind Ed the front door banged open and Al's cheerful voice entered before he did, "Brother, you're awake! We brought breakfast."

Behind Al's hulking armor frame Ed saw Mason and a girl who looked roughly Mason's age. Her long black hair was tied into a ponytail that reached her waist and she was carrying a cloth-covered basket. A warm, sweet, homey smell followed her into the room.

"Alphonse, I was just getting your brother caught up," Biggs said. He stood and collected his Ed's mugs to refill.

"Brother, this is Zelda," Al motioned to the girl with the basket. "She's a friend of Mason's and she works at the bakery. She's really nice. Look, she made cinnamon rolls for us!"

Although no one else could probably tell, Al was looking at the girl with what Ed had learned to interpret as affection.

At his kind words Zelda smiled up at Al, cheeks red like she'd just come in out of the cold. Behind the two of them Mason looked like he'd tasted something bitter, and Ed would wager half his research budget that there was more between Mason and Zelda than just friendship, or at least that's what Mason thought.

Zelda smiled shyly and set he basket down on the desk. "If you're here to help out Mason and Sheriff Biggs it's the least I can do."

"Thanks, they smell great," Ed said, but his words came out with less enthusiasm than he intended. He was sure that the rolls did smell great, but his cold had both dulled his senses and stolen his appetite. Right now he was more interested in solving this case than he was in eating.

"When you boys get hungry just come by the shop. I'll make something up for you."

"Please don't go to any trouble- " Al protested.

"It's no trouble. Besides, these two can't cook and we can't have you going hungry."

Ed said, trying to be polite, "Thank you. You're very kind."

"You're welcome, Edward. If you'll excuse me I need to get back to work. It's always busy in the morning and I promised that I'd only be gone a minute. I just had to come by and meet you."

"I'll walk you back to the shop," Mason volunteered. On his way out he cast a warning look over his shoulder at Al, which Al missed completely because he was waving goodbye to Zelda.

Al sighed when the door closed behind her.

"She's a sweet girl," the sheriff said. "I'd take her up on lunch if I were you. The restaurants at the inns are always packed and I'm afraid she wasn't kidding when she said we couldn't cook. Boiling water is about the extent of my skills in the kitchen."

"Thanks, we'll keep that in mind," Ed said. Meanwhile Al busied himself unloading the basket. It looked like Zelda had brought more than just breakfast. There were two loaves of bread as well as several small jars of preserves and what looked like slabs of butter and cheese wrapped in wax paper. The sheriff didn't have any plates, but fortunately Zelda seemed to know that. She'd wrapped each cinnamon roll in a checkered cloth napkin. Al brought one for the sheriff and one for Ed. "Here you go, brother," Al said. He even took one for himself, which Ed knew that he would pretend to eat, but actually hide away for Ed. It was a trick that Al had come up with, and it was handy because Al didn't need to eat and Ed typically ate like he was the one with two hollow legs. The only problem with their system was if Al hid something away and then forgot about it. Ed would only find out if Al remembered or if his armor started to smell, and the cleanup was a pain. Al's armor had a lot of nooks and crannies where things could get stuck.

Ed accepted the roll with a nod of thanks. It looked good: still warm and the icing just starting to cool and form a sugary translucent shell on the top. When Ed took a bite the dough was soft and sweet and the cinnamon was strong. He thought that these must be a house specialty, or at the very least Zelda's own specialty. Nevertheless he could only get a few mouthfuls down before eating became too much bother.

Ed wrapped up the rest of his cinnamon roll. After all, he might want it later.

Al was watching him carefully. "You're not hungry?" he asked.

"We can eat on the road. I've wasted too much time already."

Having neatly sidestepped Al's question Ed turned to the sheriff and asked, "Can you point us in the direction of Mrs. Bosch's place?"

The sheriff frowned. "I thought I'd escort you boys out there this morning."

Ed waved a hand dismissively. He didn't want or need the sheriff tagging along. As much as he hated to admit it, it was costing him too much effort to engage the man in conversation, and he had a feeling that he would need a good amount of energy and patience for his encounter with Mrs. Bosch.

"That's alright. We work better on our own."

Ed stood, and the blood in his head rushed towards his feet.

Now, the physical part of Ed's early alchemy training had been just a water board shy of torture. At the moment, that training was the only thing keeping him upright while his vision swam with black dots. Ed stayed still for a moment, clinging stubbornly to consciousness until the darkness receded from the corners of his vision. What the sheriff probably took for a thoughtful pause, Al would be able to recognize as dizziness, unless of course he hadn't been paying attention.

"Brother…"

No such luck.

Ed continued to speak to the sheriff as if he hadn't been interrupted, "Besides, with the festival in town you must be pretty busy. I don't want to drag you away from your duties for something that we're perfectly capable of handling on our own. So where did you say she lives again?"

The sheriff hadn't said in the first place but he stuttered out an address, still looking taken-aback by Ed's refusal of assistance. He offered to draw a map for them, even got out paper, though the only blank sheets that he had quick access to were tucked into one of Mason's textbooks. Ed shook his head. Now that his body was upright it was sending him signals to either get moving or lie back down and go to sleep. No third option, and he'd better pick one before it decided for him.

Ed made for the door.

"We'll find out what's what and catch up to you later. C'mon, Al."

Al's helmet swiveled uncertainly between the sheriff, who was still at his desk with a pen poised over his son's homework, and his brother, who was gathering momentum as he moved toward the open front door.

"Wait, Brother!" For someone so much taller than his older brother, Al spent a lot of time hurrying to catch up with him.

"Thank you for all of your help, Sheriff," Al said hurriedly. "We'll check back in with you this afternoon."

If the sheriff had time to respond or even to wave goodbye Ed wasn't there to see it.

Following the directions that the sheriff had given him (and with Al's clanking footsteps following in his wake) Ed started to head south along the street that ran in front of the sheriff's station. In broad daylight he could now see that this was Rhuel's main arterial road. Unlike the avenues that sprouted off to either side it was paved and nearly every building was two stories tall and made of brick or some other type of stone. There were businesses on the first floor and presumably apartments on the top. As Ed made his way down the street he spotted a bank, a pharmacy, and several restaurants and of course the inns that he and Al had visited when they arrived in town, and a building that Ed assumed must be the town hall. All of the businesses that didn't revolve around the everyday operation of the town appeared to have something to do with minerals, rocks, gems or jewelry, and all of these had tables or booths set up in front of them. The tables and booths were as crowded with wares as the street itself was crowded with people.

Judging by their attire the festival attendees had come from all over Amestris and beyond. Ed brushed past a group of men in fur-trimmed dusters who were having an animated discussion in a guttural language that Ed didn't understand, probably Drachman. Across the way a tiny woman was engaged in a heated bartering session with a shopkeeper over a gaudy broach in the shape of a peacock. The woman was dressed in silks and had the dark hair and olive skin common to Xingans. As Ed watched, the woman stomped her foot and pointed animatedly down the road toward another stand selling similar wares.

With so many strangers Al would be able to wander freely about town without drawing attention. Ed was grateful for that. When the two of them visited new places Al often worried that his appearance would frighten people. Ed himself saw no reason for his brother's concern because no matter what he looked like Al's gentle nature shone through. Ed's faith in that was stronger than Al's, though, and so for Al's sake Ed was glad whenever they visited a place that was full of strangers so that they could move about in relative anonymity. It could sometimes be difficult to come up with a plausible reason why a thirteen-year-old boy would be wearing a suit of armor everywhere he went.

In the middle of the chaos Ed noticed a small shop with a red and white striped awning and several wrought iron chairs and tables out in front. The tables were packed with patrons who were busily drinking coffee and enjoying breakfast pastries like the one that was wrapped up and cooling in Ed's pocket. Loaves of bread were lined up like soldiers in the front window and just past them Ed's eyes picked out the tan and brown livery of Rhuel's law enforcement. Mason was standing at the counter, or, leaning over it really, waving and gesturing animatedly. Zelda popped into view behind the counter, straightening up as she removed a tray of muffins from an oven. She was laughing so hard at something that Mason had said that she nearly dropped them and had to dive towards the nearest available surface to set them down.

Ed stopped in the middle of the street to watch them, arms hanging limply at his sides.

Al caught up to him.

"Mason is actually very helpful. He showed me around town this morning and introduced me to some of the people who live here. Really, brother, you should try to be nicer to people who are trying to help us," Al scolded him.

"I know," Ed said.

He wondered why watching two people who were obviously so happy should make him so sad.

"Maybe I should go in there and apologize for being so short with him last night." Then Ed pulled a face, realizing what he'd just said. Al wisely let it go, and Ed was glad that he couldn't tell whether or not Al was smiling, though he got the distinct impression that if Al had a human body, he would have been.

"You know what I mean!" Ed snapped. Then he gave a defeated sigh, "Never mind. Looks like he's busy right now anyway. I'll apologize later. Let's just go."

"You still look tired, brother. I can take care of this. You should rest."

Ed was used to life in the military, to constant travel, bad food and horrible accommodations. He was used to walking for miles with a tireless suit of armor by his side. And even when Ed was well rested and well fed, his stumps still ached with sudden changes in the weather, sometimes so bad that it made him nauseous, and there wasn't anything that he could do about it except push through the pain and hope that it spit him out on the other side. So the idea that he was going to sit this one out just because he felt a little tired was ridiculous.

"Don't be silly. I'm not going to spend this whole mission just lying around, Al. Besides, I can't just sit back and let you do my dirty work."

"Really, Ed, You have to take care of yourself. Did you even take your medicine this morning?"

Ed's hand tightened around the paper package still crumpled in his coat pocket. It was right under his cinnamon roll, which he also had no intention of putting in his mouth at the moment.

"I feel a little better this morning," he said, trying to decide whether or not that was true.

Al made a sound that was at once doubtful and exasperated.

"Please, Al, let's just get this over with," Ed whined. "You let me sleep in _forever_ this morning and we're here already, so we're committed."

"Fine," Al conceded, clenching his fists at his side, "but you're taking your medicine at lunch time and if you start to feel like you might be sick, we're turning back."

"I'll be fine," Ed assured him. "It's just a lousy cold. I'll fight it off."

"I mean it, Ed."

Ed opened his mouth to reply but one look at Al and Ed decided that his energy was better spent finding the rogue alchemist than arguing with his little brother. When Al made up his mind about something he stood his ground so stubbornly that no one could doubt that the two of them were related.

To be continued...


	4. Chapter 4

PART 4

Wilhelmina Bosch lived in a neat blue and white A-frame house that was perched on a low hill near the south end of town. Colorful flowers surrounded the property on all sides and spilled from window boxes and hanging planters. Carefully manicured hedges in geometric shapes bordered the front lawn, which was a healthy, uniform bright green. Two identical trees with straight white trunks stood on either side of the front walk like sentries. Their branches were decorated with festive paper lamps, the kind that could be lit at night to entertain an outdoor dinner party.

"It's like something out of a story book," Al said.

Ed was shamefully out of breath after the short climb uphill. Too much time spent on trains instead of training, he supposed. Still, he shouldn't have felt _this_ out of shape. After a moment he felt like he had enough breath to reply to his brother.

"She's quite the gardener."

Truthfully, Ed was awed. Now he understood why she must have been so upset about her hydrangeas. This was no hobby. Unless Wilhelmina Bosch employed an army of gardeners the time and effort that it must have cost to cultivate a garden this impressive must have taken a level of dedication that bordered on obsession.

Ed stood staring –_admiring_, rather- Mrs. Bosch's workmanship. As an alchemist he had a profound appreciation for clean lines, precision and detail, no matter what the medium. This garden was a work of art.

"Brother, come look at this."

Ed trotted over to his brother. Al had circled behind the house and come face to face with the reason that they had been called here.

If the front yard was a work of art then the back yard was a masterpiece of flowering bushes any ivy-covered trellises, but in the middle of that masterpiece it looked like some violent deity of anger and destruction had descended from on high and smote the property. A shattered heap of wooden beams and planks lay spread out over the lawn and bushes. The lush greenery was flattened and the earth had been slashed open in places where the broken structure dug into the soft soil.

Before seeing this Ed hadn't felt any particular emotion toward Leon Mueller, whoever he was. Hell, Ed could cause more destruction than this in under a minute and over a much wider area, but seeing something that was obviously a work of passion destroyed by shear incompetence really pissed Ed off.

As he stood surveying the damage Ed became aware that he and Al were not alone on the property. A plump, gray-haired woman wearing an apron and a wide-brimmed straw hat was approaching from behind.

"Terrible, isn't it?" she asked, coming up alongside them. In one gloved hand she was clutching a set of gardening shears. In the other she held a fistful of tiny branches. She planted both fists on her hips.

"It's awful," Ed breathed.

Al turned his helmet towards her. "Ma'am, is this your garden?"

"That it is, young man. If you two are looking for the festival then you're headed in the wrong direction. It's back down that way." She pointed with her shears.

"No ma'am, we're not here for the festival," Al said.

Ed tore his eyes away from the devastation long enough to say, "Colonel Mustang sent us. My name is Edward Elric. This is my brother Alfonse, and we're here for this," Ed finished, tipping his head toward the rubble in the middle of her yard.

Wilhelmina Bosch's expression hardened. Her grip on the gardening shears tightened, and the way she was holding them suddenly made the shears seem more like a weapon than a tool.

And there was no doubt in Ed's mind that she knew how to use them.

Talking fast and acting faster Ed managed to get Wilhelmina Bosch to describe the way that the porch had looked before it had collapsed. He wanted to get to work before the outraged accusations started flying. Somehow he even managed to get her to go into the house and locate a photograph taken the summer before of her grandchildren playing in the back yard. It was a valuable point of reference and helped Ed eliminate a lot of the alchemic guesswork he would have had to do otherwise.

It took Ed four separate transmutations to restore Mrs. Bosch's porch and backyard to their former, undamaged state: one to repair the exterior of the house, one to repair the porch itself, one to fix the plants and the yard itself, and a fourth transmutation to correct what Mrs. Bosch insisted were 'flaws' in the finished product. Ed was cursing and growling under his breath when he clapped his hands the final time. Gone was his earlier appreciation for her fastidious craftsmanship. Under his breath he was calling her a fussy old bat because he'd studied the photograph and as far as he could tell the porch was a perfect reproduction right down to the way that the nails were driven into the wood, thank you very much.

Reshaping the hydrangeas and the other plants had been the most difficult part of the rebuilding process. Cut flowers were easy. They would wither within days, so their structure and composition didn't matter so much, just as long as they looked pretty and smelled nice. Ed could even make adjustments to their structure so that they would last longer. Plants that were already living and were expected to keep living and growing on their own took more energy and attention to repair. Transmuting a living plant was not the same as transmuting a living animal or person. Ed should know. He had given the subject a lot of thought. There was nothing taboo about it. Even so, transmuting plants (or doing it well, at least) required a level of understanding, a talent almost like having an ear for music. Ed's fourth consecutive transmutation seemed to have sucked him dry, but the finished product was a work of art if he said so himself.

When the last of the blue and white light faded Ed stayed on his hands and knees, chanting a silent mantra of 'don't find anything wrong, don't find anything wrong' while Mrs. Bosch fastidiously inspected her property. Agonizing minutes passed and Mrs. Bosch finally turned to face him, her expression grim. Ed's heart sank.

"It's lovely," she said, and an approving smile broke her weathered face.

Ed's shoulders sagged in relief. He sat back on his heels.

"We'd like to ask you a few questions about the alchemist who repaired your porch the first time," Al said.

"If you can call what he did a 'repair'!" she said.

"Please, it's very important."

"He's one of your own. I should be asking you two about him. Doesn't the state put its alchemists through some kind of training? Are they so eager for recruits now that they'll take incompetent practitioners and children?"

With difficulty, Ed ignored her jab. "He wasn't trained by the state," he confessed. Mustang had told them to be circumspect, not to reveal that Leon Mueller wasn't a state alchemist. But Mustang wasn't here and besides, Ed wasn't telling the full truth anyway and he had no plan to. "We don't know him. But it's important that we find him."

Mrs. Bosch sniffed disdainfully. "I hope you do."

Ed coughed into his elbow, which made Al look this way. Ignoring the unwanted attention Ed got a knee under him and staggered to his feet.

His head was light, his ears were ringing and the ground was uneven.

"Brother!"

Al caught Ed's arm before he could fall.

Ed blinked a few times and then jerked his arm away. "M'okay. Just tired."

"Here, bring him inside."

Ed tried to protest but it didn't do him any good and he found himself being marched up a flagstone path by his unrelenting mobile fortress of a brother. Once they were indoors Mrs. Bosch herded the two of them into her kitchen and shooed a black and white spotted cat off of a wooden chair at the table so that Ed could sit. Al deposited him there, then stood looming like a thundercloud.

"You can stop shoving me around. I'm fine." Ed complained.

"You're white as a ghost, dear," Mrs. Bosch informed him.

"The transmutation just took more out of me than usual is all," Ed groused, folding his arms dejectedly on the kitchen table. He added quietly, "If someone hadn't been so picky…"

Mrs. Bosch busied herself in the kitchen, stripping off her gardening gloves, opening and closing cabinets and setting things out on the counter.

"We're sorry to impose, Ma'am," Al apologized. "He hasn't been feeling well for the past few days, you see, and he has a tendency to overdo things."

With her head and arms already deep in her cupboards Mrs. Bosch tsk-tsked. "My oldest son is the same way. I've got something that will fix you right up."

Mrs. Bosch's kitchen was small and lit by a cheery little fire in the hearth. The air was warm and dry but it hadn't even occurred to Ed to remove his coat. Underneath his layers of clothes his skin still felt damp and cold.

"I don't need anything. I'm fine," Ed's protests were weaker this time because he knew that he was going to be ignored, and he was right.

Mrs. Bosch and Al continued to carry on a polite conversation over the top of Ed's head, much to his annoyance. They talked about the garden and the porch and her grandchildren and the goings-on of her neighbors and a hundred other things that Ed couldn't possibly have found less interesting if he'd tried. While Al sat and nodded and asked questions about the type of fertilizer she used to keep her tomato plants so healthy Ed scowled and fumed and wisely kept his mouth shut so that Al could smooth things over with the lady of the house. Al was good at smoothing things over. He'd had lots of practice.

Bored, Ed folded his hands on top of the quilted placemat in front of him. The second that he rested his chin on his hands Mrs. Bosch set a flowery saucer and teacup right in front of him, almost under his nose. Ed sat straight up. The aroma rising from the steaming brew that filled the teacup was so strong and unexpected that Ed felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

"I used to make this for my children when they were ill. It's an old family remedy."

Ed lifted the teacup and inhaled the steam, trying to determine the contents of the cup. It seemed to be some kind of tea. The aroma was strong and spicy. He blew on the surface of the liquid to cool it, and then took a polite but tentative sip, aware that both Mrs. Bosch and Al were watching him expectantly.

Ed swallowed. To his relief the brew didn't taste bad. It was strong, yes, and very sweet: licorice tea with honey and herbs. There was a medicinal bite underneath the other flavors, something familiar that he couldn't quite put his finger on.

Ed put the cup down and coughed into his fist. "It's good. Thank you."

Mrs. Bosch smiled in satisfaction.

Al looked unnecessarily relieved. What did he think Ed was going to do? Spit it out?

Ed considered for a moment. Okay, well, maybe Al was right to look relieved.

Al turned to Mrs. Bosch, "I'm sorry for taking up so much of your time, ma'am. If you wouldn't mind answering a few questions about the alchemist who tried to fix your porch we can be on our way."

"Don't be ridiculous, dear. It's a pleasure to have company." She was really only looking at Al when she said it.

Ed sipped his tea quietly.

"What can you tell us about Leon Mueller?"

"Oh, was that his name? He didn't properly introduce himself. In fact I didn't even know that he was an alchemist until I saw his pocket watch."

Ed found that the tea had a pleasant numbing effect on his throat. Before he was aware of it he had almost drained the cup. Without being asked Mrs. Bosch took his teacup and saucer into the kitchen to make him another. As she rattled around in the kitchen she described her brief, and as it turned out, very strange encounter with the rogue alchemist.

Mrs. Bosch had awakened the morning after the earthquake to find cracks in some of the timbers supporting her back porch, so she went into town to hire a few men to help her shore up the damaged supports. When she got back she found a dark-haired young man in civilian clothing standing in her back yard, packing books into a satchel. Designs that she recognized as alchemic arrays had been drawn in the soil under her porch and the cracks in the beams had apparently been completely repaired. The young man had appeared to be in some kind of hurry.

"He kept checking the time on his watch, like he had an appointment to keep," she said, setting a fresh cup of tea in front of Ed.

"And what did the watch look like?" Al asked. Ed's mouth was full of tea.

Mrs. Bosch seemed mildly insulted. "I've been around for a while, dear. I know a state alchemist's pocket watch when I see one. It was silver and it had the state crest engraved on the front."

"Did you know where he went after he left?"

She nodded briskly. "The Clebolds, just down the way. There was a flash of blue light, almost like a lightning strike, but coming up from the ground. Then he visited the Frays and Mr. Fisk at the bottom of the hill. My porch didn't last two hours. The Clebolds' chimney didn't even last that long. The Frays' foundation cracked open again by sundown and half of Mr. Fisk's roof collapsed by morning. Thank goodness his bedroom was in a different part of the house!"

Ed thought that she certainly seemed… well informed. He suddenly had the suspicion that he and Al having tea with the town busybody.

Speaking of tea, Ed looked down into his second cup. A warm lassitude was spreading outward from his stomach to his extremities, his flesh ones anyway. His fingers, curled around the tiny porcelain vessel, felt thick and clumsy, almost swollen. Ed should have been alarmed, but he felt strangely at ease. It was becoming increasingly difficult for him to follow the conversation, which was fine because Al seemed to have taken over. Ed was more than happy to let him.

Ed leaned he elbows on the table and laced his fingers under his chin, thinking that he should at least try to look like he was paying attention. Paying attention was hard, though. Either he was more tired than he thought or this was the most comfortable table he'd ever sat at because he didn't remember resting his head on his arms but he must have because that's where his head was when someone dropped a cold, wet cloth onto the back of his neck.

"Zzzzzzggghhh!" Ed protested through gritted teeth.

He sat up and tried to pull the cloth away from his skin but a small, papery hand held the cloth in place.

"Just leave it there for a moment. You're flushed," Mrs. Bosch said.

Ed relented, but when her hand crept around to feel his forehead that's where Ed drew the line.

"Okay, I think we've taken up enough of your time."

Ed stood and pulled the cloth off of his neck with numb, clumsy fingers. He quickly but politely folded it before handing it back to her. "Uh. Thank you, but we need to go now."

Ed's legs felt strangely detached from the rest of his body, like they belonged to someone else. He stumbled over the legs of his chair but somehow managed to keep both it and himself upright as he pushed it in and backed carefully away from the table and towards the front door. Al followed in his lurching footsteps, his giant iron shadow.

"Do you boys have someplace to stay while you're in town?" Mrs. Bosch asked, trailing after them, still holding the damp cloth. "The inns around here book up rather quickly- "

"Uh huh, yeah, we figured that out," Ed said. He had never taken his coat off and he was glad. That was one less obstacle keeping him from running for the door.

"The sheriff was kind enough to let us stay with him," Al amended for his brother. He turned to Ed's retreating form and extended a hand, "Wait!" He turned his head toward Mrs. Bosch. "Thank you for your hospitality, Ma'am. You've been very helpful. Please call the sheriff if you remember anything else."

"There was one more thing," Mrs. Bosch spoke up, hooking a finger thoughtfully under her lips.

Ed, already at the door, turned.

"The books that he was packing up. They looked like textbooks. When I first saw him I thought that he looked young enough to be a student."

Al asked, "Did you notice any titles?"

"I can't remember the titles, no, but the pages were bookmarked and ragged. My sons both went to the university in Central. I remember that that's what their books looked like, they were so worn from use." There was pride in her voice.

"I see," said Al. "Thanks again for everything. If we have any more questions, may we come by and see you again?"

"Certainly, and if there are any further problems with my porch I will be sure to come and find the two of you," she assured them. It sounded to Ed like a threat and a promise both.

Ed scurried out the door, never once looking back to see if Al was following him.

Ed slowed once he reached the road, mostly to get his bearings but also because the strange, heavy feeling in his legs hand not gone away. He hoped that if he walked for a while he might start to feel better, but as they began to move in the direction of the Clebolds' house he realized that the feeling was only getting worse.

Ed swallowed his pride, "Hey Al… I don't feel right," he said, slowing down. Ed had trouble getting his body to stop completely. His legs seemed to be in love with momentum.

Al hovered protectively. "Do you need to be sick?" he asked.

"I don't think so." Ed's throat tightened preemptively at Al's suggestion, but the problem wasn't in his stomach…or maybe it was. "Hey, did you see what went into that tea that she gave me?"

"Dried herbs and honey. Hot water. It didn't look like anything that would hurt you…" Al said with a fearful edge to his voice. "Maybe you should try to throw up."

Ed shook his heavy head.

"Then maybe we should find a place for you to lie down."

"No, I think I'm good. I just feel kind of numb."

"We can go back to town. I keep telling you that you need to rest."

Something about Al's response to Ed's condition seemed off. Al was giving him a very strange look, and for a suit of armor, that was saying something.

Ed held up his hands, flesh and automail. When he dropped them to his sides they felt equally loose. The aches and pains that he associated with his automail were dull echoes. He added up his symptoms with Al's guilty reaction and then subtracted them from what he knew about rural cold remedies. Having grown up in the country Ed knew a thing or two about the subject. So did Al.

"Al," Ed concluded, "I think I'm drunk. I think the old lady put spirits in the tea."

Judging from Al's lack of surprise his younger brother seemed to have come to the same conclusion.

In fact, Al seemed a little _too_ unsurprised. He sighed and assured Ed, "You're not drunk. You just seem…relaxed."

"I don't like this," Ed moaned. "I feel like my muscles are melting."

Al sighed. "You're being dramatic, brother. It'll wear off in a little while. She didn't put very much in."

And maybe she hadn't, for a normal person, but Ed's guard had slipped enough for him to admit to himself that he wasn't exactly normal-sized. That fact aside he was missing two limbs, making him really about three-quarters of the person that he appeared to be. What would have been a mild dose for anyone else was a potent medicine for him.

"Mean old bat," Ed muttered.

"Ed," Al said firmly, "that's not very nice. She wasn't mean at all. She has kids of her own, and grandkids! She's just strict."

"How can you say that? She poisoned me!"

"She invited us into her home-"

"After I practically passed out trying to get her back yard perfect!"

"She was worried about you! She even tried to invite us to stay with her!"

"As if I'd stay with a nasty old crone!"

Al actually _growled_ at him, clenching his leather fists at his sides. Looking the way that he did, the pose was actually quite menacing. Ed's eyes opened wide and he took a stumbling step backwards.

"Brother, you're so…" Al began, his metal body trembling with rage.

When they had been children Ed had always been a little thicker, a little sturdier than his younger brother. Now Al was sturdier by far, but that didn't stop Ed from standing toe-to-toe with him in the middle of the street. He was scowling and swaying, hands clenched, a mirror image of his brother's posture, but far less intimidating. "What? I'm so what?"

The tension in Al's metal frame evaporated. If Ed was looking for a fight, he wasn't going to find it here.

"Let's just go."

Ed's shoulders dropped. He stood staring after his little brother as Al walked away from him.

And for once it was Ed's turn to chase after Al.

Ed was practically useless at the next house that they visited, and it seemed like Al was making sure that he felt like it too.

"So he told you that he was a state alchemist?" Al asked. He and Ed were seated on a long green couch in the Clebolds' living room across from Mr. and Mrs. Clebold and their four-year-old daughter Lucy.

Mrs. Clebold nodded, prying her squirming, hyperactive daughter off of her lap. Lucy immediately rushed over to Alphonse and began to climb him like a tree.

"Lucy!" Mrs. Clebold snapped. "Sorry, Mr. Elric."

Alphonse was laughing, though, something that Ed wouldn't have been doing in his place. "It's alright. Um, you were saying?"

"Yes. He told us his name and said that he was an alchemist for the state. He was very polite." That last part seemed to be directed at Edward, who, when he hadn't been tripping over the rug, the cat and his own feet had spent the majority of their visit scowling at the offending objects while his brother handled the transmutation that restored the Clebolds' chimney to working order, hunted for clues and made productive use of their time in general.

Ed felt like a snot-nosed little kid tagging along after a parent.

"He seemed very apologetic," Mr. Clebold added, "almost like he thought the earthquake was his fault."

"Huh," Ed snorted.

"He didn't _exactly_ seem confident in his work, but I'm sure he didn't mean for the chimney to collapse," said Mrs. Clebold.

"Tell me, does the state always sponsor amateur alchemists this way?" Mr. Clebold asked in a way that Ed interpreted as condescending. "Is this some new program?"

Ed bit his tongue and let Al take the reigns on this one. He instinctively didn't like this idiot Clebold. The wife and kid were fine but the husband struck Ed as a man who sat behind a desk all day and told other people what to do, and didn't _that_ sound familiar...

"The process of obtaining a state certification is very involved," Al informed them seriously. "The military doesn't give watches to just anyone. That's why it's very important that we track him down."

Mr. Clebold scoffed, "Sounds like the military needs to do a better job of keeping tabs on its people."

Ed almost didn't hear the rest of the conversation over the sound of his own teeth grinding.

Apparently Al got something more out of that sentence than Ed did. "You're the second person to mention that you thought he was a student."

"Well, he said that he was a student."

"Did he say that he was studying alchemy?"

"Not specifically, but that part was obvious, and if you ask me, he needs to study a little bit harder."

"Nobody asked y- " Ed started to say, but a heavy leather gauntlet covered his mouth and Ed had to fight the urge to bite down, but he was only successful because he knew it wouldn't do any good.

Ed sulked his way through the rest of the visit and poured his remaining energy into controlling the urge to cough everywhere. Once they had said their goodbyes (their torturously long, lingering goodbyes) and were out the door and safely down the road a bit, Ed rested his hands on his knees and hacked until he thought he was going to produce a hairball or a lung or both. In between fits he gasped out, "I can't believe he had me defending that guy when he's the whole reason we're out here in the first place!"

Al said nothing. He just stood patiently by the side of the road, waiting for Ed's coughing fit to pass. Anyone who happened to be passing by was going to wonder why Ed was having a conversation with a statue.

After a while Ed straightened up, wiping a hand across his mouth. The affects of the alcohol that Mrs. Bosch had put in his tea were beginning to fade. The false warmth in his limbs was fading, and the cold was seeping back in. Beside him, Al's frosty demeanor seemed to magnify it.

Ed sighed. He looked down at his boots, which were covered with dust from the road.

"I hope the little girl doesn't catch my cold," Ed said quietly.

"Oh, so _now_ you're being considerate?" Al's question seemed to explode out of him, as if it had been held under pressure for a long time.

"Are you still mad at me?" Ed asked.

Al turned his helmet towards him. "You know how I feel, Brother. You should go back into town, get some more rest and take your medicine. You're not going to be much help in the shape you're in."

Ed filled his lungs, prepping for an argument but the whole thing just seemed like too much work at the moment. His breath sighed out of him, punctuated by a weak cough at the end of it.

"I'm sorry, Al. I'm sorry I'm being such a pain in the ass. I just… don't feel well and I'm taking it out on everybody including you."

"It's okay, brother," Al soothed sympathetically. "But you need to go a little easier on everybody, and that includes yourself."

Good old Al, always the voice of reason.

"I'll make you a deal: If I get out of line again you can drag me back to town and throw me in one of the jail cells."

"That wouldn't work. You'd just transmute your way out."

Ed stuffed his hands in his pockets. Sometimes it was tough to have someone around who knew him so well. Mustang and his staff he could fool at least most of the time.

"I just want to hurry and get through this assignment. I won't be able to rest until we've figured this out."

"I know, brother. Just… try to be less of a jerk, okay?"

"I guess, as long as all I have to do is try."

To be continued...


	5. Chapter 5

PART 5

Ed let Al handle the next two transmutations as well. His brother drew neat arrays on Mr. Fisk's roof and the Frays' foundation to fix the damage that the rogue alchemist had caused. Under the clean lines of the arrays that Al drew Ed could still make out the faint outline of the runes that Leon Mueller had used. Just like the remains of the array that they'd seen on the Clebolds' chimney, these were sort of oblong and flawed, obviously drawn by an unpracticed hand.

Although much of the town seemed less than sympathetic towards alchemists and the military, not to mention state alchemists, the Frays had family in East city and were familiar with stories about the Fullmetal Alchemist. So while they showered Ed's little brother with misguided praise Ed sat and stewed quietly in a corner and said NOT ONE WORD. All he did was sip the tea that he was offered, say "thank you" and stare intently at Al in a _look how good I'm being even though it might make my skull explode_ kind of way.

They didn't learn anything from the Frays or Mr. Frisk that they didn't already know, and after listening to the Frays spew admiration all over his little brother for half an hour Ed's mood was in a downward spiral. They'd spent the entire morning fixing what the rogue alchemist had broken and they still had no serious leads.

"We're wasting our time. This guy's not a threat. He's just an idiot. He can't even transmute without looking at a drawing in a textbook first!" Ed said, his voice rising. The exclamation took more breath than Ed had. He pressed his automail hand to the center of his chest, trying to dispel the ache that he felt there.

"It doesn't sound like he's had any kind of formal alchemy training. If he keeps going like this he might seriously hurt someone."

"Yeah, I know," agreed Ed. "This guy's such a pain in the ass. He's not even worth our time."

"We don't know why he's doing this. He must have a reason."

"It had better be damn good one."

The path back into the main part of Rhuel took Ed and Al over a narrow bridge that traversed a wide, shallow river, the town's primary source of fresh water. The bridge was barely wide enough to accommodate one automobile, and had probably been built with only foot traffic in mind. The pillars were discolored near bottom, faded chalk-white by the seasonal rise and fall of the water level.

Chalk white.

Ed bolted to the side of the road, forgoing the bridge, and scrambling down the embankment. Al hurried to follow.

Despite the recent rain the water level was still low enough to leave several boulders exposed. Ed leapt from one to the other until he reached one of the bridge supports near the deepest part of the river.

"Careful, Al, it's slippery." Ed called over the roaring sound of the water rushing past. Al's arms pin wheeled but he stayed upright. Despite the lack of traction his longer legs made traversing the boulders an easier task than it had been for Ed.

"Look at this," Ed said, running his gloved fingers over the splintered surface of the pillar.

"I don't see anything. What is it?"

Then Al became quiet and focused, leaning over his shoulder, and Ed knew that Al could see it too.

Ed could barely make out it himself, but the longer he looked, the more he was certain: what had at first glance appeared to be no more than random scratches on the pillar there were actually alchemic runes etched shallowly into the water-softened surface of the wood. There were even still traces of chalk imbedded in the grooves.

"What was he trying to do?" Ed asked himself.

Al was the one who noticed. "These boulders have been moved."

Ed turned his attention to the stone surface under his feet. It was dark on one side, like something freshly dug from the earth, and light on the other, bleached from sun exposure and running vertically through the middle of the stone, bisecting it neatly, was a water line.

"Yeah, you're right," Ed agreed. "I think we found the cause of the earthquake. All of these rocks shifting at once must have caused the tremors."

"Do you think he was trying to repair the bridge?"

"Maybe…" Ed said. He circled around the pillar closest to him, and then hopped to the next stone, looking up at the dark underside of the bridge. "This thing looks pretty solid to me. Judging by the rest of Leon's transmutations it should be a pile of splinters by now."

"Maybe he got lucky," Al suggested.

"I don't know," Ed said, bending closer to inspect Leon's array. The recent rain had washed away most of the chalk outline. What Ed could make out was sort of ovular and amateurish, like the arrays they'd seen at the Clebolds', the Frays' and at Mr. Fisk's place. The actual symbols, the details that determined what the array was capable of, had been all but wiped out by the elements. Ed couldn't tell if Leon had been trying to fix this bridge, destroy it, or turn it into a statue of an elephant.

"Dammit!" he exclaimed in frustration.

Ed's boot chose that moment to slip down the rounded surface of the boulder on which he was crouched, dunking his leg up to the knee in the freezing river.

"Careful, brother!" Al shouted. He reached a hand out with the intention of helping, but instead nearly became unbalanced himself. Only the swift flailing of his arms saved him. Ed meanwhile had clawed his way back onto the boulder and was bemoaning the fact that it was his right foot and not his automail foot that he had managed to soak.

Once they were safely on solid ground on the other side of the river Al said, "We should tell the sheriff what we found here."

"Yeah, we need to get him close the bridge until we can figure out what Leon was trying to do."

Shivering, Ed stomp-squelched his way back into town, hoping that the sheriff would still have his stove going this late in the day so that Ed could warm up, or at the very least enjoy having a dry sock on his flesh foot.

No such luck.

The stove was cold when they got to the sheriff's office. Ed stood close to it, holding his wet sock and boot, half-hoping that some residual heat still clung to the metal. If there was, he couldn't feel it. Normally Ed would just use alchemy to warm himself and dry his sock but he was still feeling the effects of his last transmutation, and Mrs. Bosch's… cure. He was afraid that me might accidentally set his sock on fire.

With a sigh Ed stumped toward the front door to wring out his sock. When he was finished he came back inside and slumped into a chair across from the sheriff's desk. While Al explained to Mason and the sheriff what they'd found at the bridge Ed tugged his boot back on and hunched into his coat, staring forlornly at the cold stove. Too late Ed realized that he'd stuck his automail hand into the pocket that contained Zelda's cinnamon roll. The icing was going to be a nightmare to clean out of the joints.

The sheriff listened to Al's story and then immediately placed a phone call to the town's building inspector. "He's going to bring an engineer with him and have a look at the bridge," Biggs said, pulling his jacket on. "You boys stay here. I'm going to meet them."

Ed was lost in a haze made up of thoughts about this case and his own physical misery. He barely heard what the sheriff was saying. "Ed," Al said, drawing his attention back to the present.

"Huh?"

"I should go with the sheriff. Someone has to show them what we're talking about."

"I'll go too," Ed volunteered. But when he told his body to move it ignored him completely. He may have been fine while he was up and moving around but now that his momentum was broken he was going to have a hell of a time shifting back into gear.

"No, brother. You stay here." Al didn't give him any more reason than that. "Mason, is there someplace that my brother can rest?"

Mason looked surprised and reluctant at first and who could blame him? Ed made enemies more quickly than he made friends but he hadn't met a person yet who could say 'no' to his little brother.

"Sure, Alphonse," Mason agreed.

Ed wasn't expecting a civil conversation after Al was out the door, so he was a little taken aback when Mason asked him, "Are you hungry?"

It was early afternoon. Ed and Al had been out for hours, but the thought of food held no appeal.

"No… thank you," Ed said, looking at the floor. The last of his energy, or at least the will to pretend he still had some, had vanished with Al.

And speaking of food…

Ed flexed the fingers of his automail hand in his pocket, feely the spongy give of Zelda's cinnamon roll. "I could use a place to wash up, though."

Indoor plumbing was still something of a luxury in rural areas, even in a small town like this. The sheriff's office had a working tap and toilet. Ed supposed that he could have made do with a sponge bath, but the idea of putting cold water on his skin made his insides ache and his skin break out in goose bumps. Fortunately there was a bathhouse located on the street behind the sheriff's office. Mason showed him the way and Ed hauled himself and his suitcase, with his only change of clothes, through the alley and up the back steps.

The rooms at the bathhouse were semi-private, which was better than nothing. There were separate sides for the men and women and curtains draped between each of the tubs that divided the bathing areas from one another. At least there were individual tubs instead of large baths, so there was less chance that Ed would be noticed. At communal baths Ed's missing limbs always drew unwanted attention. If he had a choice Ed would rather forgo bathing altogether than have to deal with the pitiful stares and awkward questions that he automail solicited. He and Al had been on the road for several weeks, though, and Ed worried that if he put off bathing for much longer he was going to start attracting flies.

As usual Ed found a way to draw unwanted attention no matter what he did.

Ed was obviously younger than the bathhouse's usual clientele. Looking around the waiting area it seemed as if every festivalgoer in Rhuel had been struck by the burning desire for a hot bath this afternoon. Every chair in the waiting area was filled and grimy rock hounds milled about, talking loudly to be heard over the din. Ed took one look and was just about to give up and dunk his sticky automail hand in a rainwater barrel outside when one of the bathhouse attendants called him to the side.

The attendant was young, maybe Mason's age, maybe a little older. It was tough to tell with girls, especially girls who wore makeup. She smiled at him in a friendly, almost conspiratorial way. He got that look from girls sometimes, mostly the older ones. Younger girls or girls his own age either ignored him or seemed to be scared of him. Maybe it was the automail.

"I have some free tubs in my section, if you don't mind bathing on the womens' side," she offered.

"Uh, no thanks," Ed replied automatically, adding silently, _I'm a man_.

There was a nametag pinned to her blouse, a tiny gold rectangle with her name etched into the surface. It read "Samantha". Ed stared at it wearily. It was really a nice piece of work, no doubt crafted by one of Rhuel's jewelry makers. It even had tiny flecks of amethyst set into the corners.

"Up here, dear." Samantha said, tilting his chin up with two fingers. Her cheeks were flushed. Ed imagined that his were too.

"There aren't any customers on the womens' side right now," Samantha pointed out, "and if there were, I doubt that they'd mind."

Ed thought that they would mind a lot. He'd heard happened at the military dorms every time that a male officer tried to set foot in the womens' locker room, accidentally or otherwise. The mystery of how Lieutenant Hawkeye was able to conceal a pistol in the shower was the talk of Eastern Headquarters.

"Come on, the tubs are cleaner and they smell better."

Looking at the group of dusty rock hounds that filled the waiting room and the row of muddy boots lining the wall, Ed couldn't argue with that.

"No bubbles or flowery-smelling soap, okay?"

"I do whatever it takes to keep my customers happy," she said, and smiled, unfazed by Ed's prickly attitude.

Samantha was right. Not only were they cleaner than any public baths that he'd seen but also the womens' side was better kept. Girls were just neater that way he supposed.

Ed undressed down to his shorts but stayed carefully out of sight, watching from behind a curtain in the dressing area as Samantha filled the tub and set out soap and towels for him. He was captivated by the care and attention that she put into those tasks, and he wondered if she treated all of her customers this well, or just him. Before now the only person who would have gone to such trouble just so that he would be comfortable had been his mother.

Ed was still thinking when she passed by him on the way out. "Be careful. The water is very hot," she said. "I can have your clothes washed while you soak."

Ed considered his travel-stained garments, which he'd shoved into one of the cubbies that lined the walls. He could use alchemy to clean his clothes. Alchemy was actually better than washing because Ed could remove sweat and stains from the fabric without damaging the integrity of his clothes, but there was just something about having his clothes washed the old fashioned way that made the cloth feel cleaner and softer, more organic… more human.

Alchemy was easy, but things created by hand through hard work and practical skill, even the things that seemed so small and insignificant to everyone else, were fascinating to Ed. The way that most people felt about alchemy was the way that Ed felt about the ability to cultivate a beautiful garden or bake delicious bread. It was magic.

Ed untangled his watch from his clothes and dropped it into one of his boots, then covered the boots with his pants and belt. The rest of his clothing he folded neatly and handed to Samantha through the curtain. "Thanks," he said, realizing too late that he'd used his right arm to hand her the clothes.

Through the thin cloth of the curtain he could only see her shadow on the cloth. If she wore the same appalled expression that he'd seen a thousand times before on the faces of strangers, he couldn't tell. Maybe it was better that way.

Samantha took the stack of clothes from him, one hand covering the top of the stack, the other reaching from underneath to support it. Ed could feel the pressure of her hand on his automail, even if he couldn't actually feel her skin. "Ring the bell if you need anything," she said softly. Then she withdrew, taking Ed's clothes, leaving Ed's arm hanging in space.

The bath water was wonderfully hot, almost painful on Ed's chilled skin, and he shivered despite the heat. Seeing his own mechanical limbs under the surface of the water reminded him that Al would need a cleaning when they got back to East City. Even if he wasn't flesh and blood his body still required attention, not so much maintenance as… housekeeping. Ed had made it a habit after each of their missions to inspect Al's joints and seams and make sure that they were free of debris. Dirt had a tendency to collect in Al's legs and Ed would have to rinse and carefully dry and oil each piece of the armor so that Al wouldn't rust. Ed found the routine somewhat soothing, a way to calm down after being on the road. He never once looked on it as a chore.

Thinking about cleaning Al's armor made Ed think about East City, and it reminded him that he hadn't called the colonel yet to let him know where they were. He could fix that once he got back to the sheriff's office, but the colonel had the ability to predict every move that they were going to make before they made it. Ed had no doubt Mustang had already figured out where they'd gone. After all, he'd been the one who had dangled this idiotic mission in front of them in the first place. The colonel couldn't possibly be shocked that Ed had taken the bait, but Ed wouldn't mind giving the colonel an earful on the subject of this wild goose chase, if he could work up enough breath to do it.

Ed had hoped that the steam from the water would loosen the congestion in his chest and help him breathe a little easier. So far it didn't seem to be working. He felt like there was a weight on his chest. His coughs had become sharp and rattling, but all of his effort produced nothing and only made the stabbing pain worse. Ed was grateful for the privacy that the bathhouse provided at least. He could cough and try to clear his lungs in the humid air without having to worry that Al would see.

Al. Ed should be with him right now, not relaxing in a bathtub while his brother completed the mission that _he_ had been assigned.

What was Leon Mueller's game, anyway? Did he have a plan or was he really as incompetent as he seemed? The arrays that he'd drawn, what was left of them at least, had been sloppy and too general to support the repairs that Leon had supposedly been trying to complete. Leon had made no modifications to the patterns to address the scope of the projects or the specific composition of the elements involved in the transmutations. To Ed the patterns had literally looked like they had been copied from a book, with no hint of practice or theory behind them.

And why would Leon Mueller choose to impersonate a state alchemist in a town that was prejudiced against the military? Granted, there were a lot of places that had little affection for the state, but if Leon was looking for respect or notoriety there were easier ways to get it than by repairing porches and chimneys.

Ed wasn't sure how long he'd been sitting here, marinating with his thoughts, but it had been long enough for the water to become murky and begin to cool. He was surprised to see that his fingertips were even starting to wrinkle. Looking at them Ed was suddenly irritated at himself for wasting so much time. With a grunt, he planted his hands on either side of the tub and stood, intending to swing his automail leg over the side of the tub.

Ed's body had other ideas. His head wasn't happy about the change in altitude and the heat from the water had loosened his limbs and leached away his strength. Ed's automail leg felt like what it was: a heavy metal weight attached to a weak flesh stump. As Ed tried to step out of the tub he found that he couldn't lift his foot high enough. His toes caught on the rim and his knee folded forward. Ed groped desperately for a way to right himself but everything was slick with water and he couldn't get a grip with his automail hand.

On his way down Ed upset the stack of towels that Samantha had set near the head of the tub, along with the little brass bell that she'd placed on top.

Ed hit the ground with a wet slap of skin, a metallic clang of automail and a light tinkling of a small brass bell.

He didn't pass out.

He _didn't_, okay?

But there was a hazy period of time between the sound of the bell hitting the ground and the moment that Ed realized that he was lying semi-naked on the bathhouse floor during which he couldn't make himself move or speak.

"Edward?"

He was lying on someone's lap.

"Edward?"

After several repetitions Ed recognized the word as his name and the lap as Samantha's.

Ed obeyed his first instinct.

"Hey, don't sit up!" she warned him.

But Ed had already heaved himself into a sitting position with his back propped against the tub and black dots swimming in his vision. He was less comfortable here, but also less prone. The air in the bathhouse was warm and humid, but Ed was shivering. Samantha draped a towel around his head and shoulders. He was grateful not only for the relief from the cold, but because although he wasn't entirely naked his shorts were clinging to…things that he'd rather they not cling to.

Samantha left his side for a moment and returned with a cup of water.

"Thank you," he said, unable to meet her eyes.

"This happens sometimes," she explained. "If the water is too hot or you're tired or dehydrated you can get dizzy. You should put your head between your knees for a few minutes."

He could be that cooperative, Ed decided. It would help him hide his embarrassment at least. "Sorry, this stuff gets overheated easy," he said, raising his right arm a little. "I guess I forgot about that."

"It's okay."

Sure it was okay, Ed thought bitterly. She wasn't the one who just fainted like a wrinkled old man getting out of the bathtub.

He should be used to feeling older than his years by now, Ed thought bitterly. His automail was useful and powerful, but it came at a price. The weight of the metal dragged on his joints, pinched his flesh and made his muscles sore from overcompensating. Physical training helped with the pain, but as busy as he and Al were with their studies and with the missions that Mustang assigned them he didn't always have the luxury. After more than three years Ed was becoming used to living in constant discomfort. Ed's back ached from regularly sitting on hard train benches and sleeping on floors or in doorways. The long hours he spent poring over textbooks in dusty libraries made his eyes itch and his head pound.

"Textbooks."

"What was that?"

Ed hadn't realized that he'd spoken out loud.

"Nothing. It's nothing. I'm sorry. You're awfully kind for looking after me like this. I bet you get good tips."

Samantha smiled in a way that said he'd guessed right.

They sat in silence for a while.

"You still look a little shaky. Where are you staying? I can have someone walk you back."

"Oh, you don't need to, really. It's not far. I'm staying with the sheriff."

Ed was wary of what her reaction might be. The people in this town didn't like military, and they seemed to be pretty well informed about their neighbors. Ed wasn't sure whether or not he'd just given up his cover. He braced himself for a barrage of questions or criticism but Samantha just smiled pleasantly at him and asked, "Oh, are you a friend of Mason's?"

"More or less," Ed told her. "Planned on staying at an inn actually, but everything was booked up."

He waited for Samantha to press the subject, to ask how he knew Mason Biggs and his father the way that any curious person would, but Samantha only said mildly, "It's that time of year I'm afraid. It's great for business, though. You couldn't have come here at a more exciting time."

"Sure seems that way."

"How are you feeling?"

"A little better, thanks."

"Your hair will dry more quickly by the stove."

At her prompt Ed levered himself up off the floor, still dizzy, still weak. Samantha moved wordlessly to support him. Ed knew that his weight was probably too much for her, so he walked on his own, only using her body for balance, grateful (though he would never admit it out loud) that he was roughly the same height as she was.

Even seated near the stove Ed still felt chilled, like there was a source of cold inside of him that all of the hot water and warm air in the world could not melt. While Ed's skin was almost uncomfortably warm, Ed's lungs ached like they were full of ice water.

"I'm going to check on your clothes for you. Are you okay by yourself for a moment?"

"Yeah, thanks," he said, and after a moment's hesitation he added, "And thanks for, you know, not asking," he said. Ed had been resting his elbows on his knees. Now he bent his right arm up to indicate what he was thanking her for. He formed a fist with his right hand and looked at her over the top of the automail appendage. "You're not curious?"

She regarded him silently for a moment. It looked to Ed as if she were evaluating the situation, considering her words carefully. Finally she said, "Of course I am, but I spend so much time dealing with people that I know when someone doesn't want to be asked. I can also tell when I'm better off not knowing the answer."

It was a diplomatic reply, and Ed had to give her credit for that.

Ed finished drying out by the stove. He braided his hair, fished his wallet out of his boot and left a generous tip for Samantha in his borrowed cubby. He never really warmed up, not all the way through anyway, but being clean helped.

Samantha returned with a stack of his clothes, cleaned and pressed and neatly folded. The first thing that Ed noticed was the red-and-white-checkered napkin –Zelda's napkin- on top. He groaned in embarrassment for having made Samantha clean the squashy mess out of his pocket. Then he remembered that his medicine had been in his coat pocket as well, and a quick search revealed that it hadn't been returned with his clothes. Ed hazarded a guess that Samantha had mistaken the paper bag for a piece of trash and thrown in away along with the cinnamon roll. Al was going to kill him, but Ed supposed that there was no helping it now, unless he felt like digging through a trash heap, or worse yet, making some poor bathhouse girl do it.

"Is something wrong?" Samantha asked.

"No," he said, realizing that his thoughts must have shown on his face. "It's nothing. Thank you for your help."

"My pleasure."

Ed stood, and another thought occurred to him. "Earlier when I, uh," -_passed out, swooned, fainted like a girl_- "when you came in here, how did you know my name?"

She gave him a perfectly innocent smile. "It's stitched into your under shorts."

Ed stared at her for a moment, and then gave an embarrassed laugh. Samantha laughed too, covering her mouth with her hand.

Ed was half way to the sheriff's office when he realized that he'd never removed his under shorts and he had to pause in the alley before entering the sheriff's station to give his face time to return to a normal color.

To be continued...


	6. Chapter 6

PART 6

The back entrance to the sheriff's office was divided from the main building by a small coatroom that had probably seen more use these past few weeks than it had all winter. This spring had been the rainiest of it's kind that Ed had seen this far to the east.

A coughing fit halted him just inside the door, forced him to lean against the wall while he rode it out, bands of steel tightening across his chest, crushing the breath out of him with every spasm. When Ed was able to look up he found Mason watching him from the coatroom door, frowning.

Ed forced himself to straighten up, not caring how badly it hurt.

"That's an ugly cough," Mason observed.

"Yeah, I know."

"I mean you should see a doctor or something," Mason clarified, not concerned, but not uncaring either. He spoke like a lawman, or like a military officer. Mason Biggs was used to giving orders.

That was fine. Ed was used to ignoring them. "I've pushed through worse. It'll keep until we get back to East City."

"If you say so," Mason shrugged, sounding like he had no personal stake in whether or not Ed took his advice.

Mason picked up Ed's suitcase where he'd dropped it.

"Are you coming inside?"

Ed had no choice but to follow him. The bastard had his suitcase.

"Listen, I think we got off on the wrong foot yesterday," Ed said, trailing after him.

"Oh?" Mason asked.

Great, Mason knew Ed was trying to apologize and he wasn't going to cut him any slack. Well, Ed would be damned if he was going to excuse his behavior. Mason and his father might be helping him out by letting him stay here but Ed and Al were here to help them out in the first place. Equivalent exchange. If anything the scales were tipping in the town's favor.

Ed took a calming breath, which almost led to another coughing fit. "You're a student at the university in Central, right?"

"Yeah?"

"You're a geology major?"

Mason gave him a wry smile. "How'd you guess?"

Ed shrugged. "Coming from a place like this, what else would you be? Besides, your dad doesn't strike me as the kind of guy who needs his son to follow in his footsteps."

Mason seemed to consider what Ed was saying. He admitted, "Dad's job isn't a family business. At least it didn't start out that way. It was just something he did to pay the bills. It's a living, but- "

"You can do better," Ed finished.

Mason stared at him. In a voice that was half-surprised, half uncertain he replied, "That's what Dad says."

Feeling like he'd said too much, Ed cleared his throat and steered the conversation back on course. "Anyway, I need to take a look at your textbooks."

Mason seemed almost disappointed. "Not much for small talk, are you?"

Ed scowled but reigned himself in before he could think of an appropriate rant to address any misconceptions that Mason might have about his size. Besides, he'd probably end up coughing a lung onto the floor before he managed to string two earsplitting words together.

"And what does that have to do with me taking a look at those books?"

Mason gave a weary sigh, "Come on, they're upstairs. We can get you settled while we're up there."

With Ed in tow, Mason hauled Ed's suitcase up the narrow set of stairs that led to the sheriff's apartment. Ed felt lousy for accepting his help and incredibly lousy for needing it in the first place.

As they climbed the steps, Mason continued, almost apologetically, "I don't mean it in a bad way, you know. You just seem very…focused."

"That's what it takes to get things done," Ed bit off, saving his breath for the stairs.

"I guess you're right about that. But I've never seen someone so young who was so serious before."

Fourteen steps and about a hundred years later Mason and Ed reached the landing at the top of the stairs. As Mason pulled a key out of his pocket and unlocked the door to the sheriff's residence Ed wondered who would be stupid enough to try to break into an apartment located above a sheriff's office. Someone desperate, he supposed. But how many desperate criminals did they have in this town? Okay, so there was at least one that Ed knew of, but he supposed that one was all that it would take.

The Biggs' apartment consisted of two bedrooms and a small common room with a kitchenette against one wall. There was a short sofa near the center of the room and two leather chairs across from them, separated by a low coffee table. The wooden floor was almost completely covered by a very big, very old tasseled rug. Patterns had been worn into the rug over time, indicating the habits of the apartment's owners. There were paths from the front door to the sofa, the sofa to the stove, the stove to the bedrooms. The path leading away from the larger bedroom was more threadbare than the one leading from the smaller bedroom. Likewise the cushions on one end of the sofa were flatter than the ones on the other side. Very suddenly Ed felt bad for the sheriff, and wondered how much time Mason spent away from home.

Mason deposited Ed's suitcase near the stove. "Have a seat."

Ed waited until Mason ducked into the smaller bedroom before collapsing into one of the chairs. He was too afraid to sit on the sofa because he suspected that the temptation to lie down would prove too great.

Ed would normally have been curious about his new surroundings, but with his body at rest, Ed's mind began to shut down as well. He suddenly found the pattern of the wood grain in the coffee table _fascinating_.

Ed jerked when Mason dropped a heavy stack of books on the table right in front of him. Had he been asleep?

"Hey," Mason said. His brows were drawn together in a frown. Ed couldn't decide whether the deputy was trying to get his attention or if he was gearing up to say something else. Either way, he didn't look happy, and Ed knew that he was the cause.

Ed shook himself and grabbed the first book on top of the stack: _A History of Geology_. He just as quickly discarded it. The second and third books in the stack were also of no use, as Ed discovered after scanning quickly through their pages.

"What are you looking for?" Mason asked. He had taken a seat on the sofa and was looking across the table at Ed curiously.

Ed shook his head. "I'll know it when I find it."

"Maybe I can help."

"No," Ed said simply, not even bothering to look up from the pages of the fourth book.

Habit more than anything else made him refuse Mason's offer, but there was an element of mistrust between them as well. Ed could feel it. Maybe it was just Ed's natural suspicion of strangers, or a lack of faith in Mason's abilities. Maybe it was the seed of hostility that Ed had planted during their first meeting. Whatever the case, allowing Mason to help him went against Ed's gut instinct.

Ed was barely aware of Mason moving about the room behind him until the older boy said, "What makes you think this Leon guy is still around? Nobody's seen or heard from him in days. He could have hiked out through the mountains by now."

"Instinct, I guess. Criminals run, and Leon isn't a criminal, or at least he doesn't think like one. He had a goal here. I just have to figure out whether or not he accomplished it."

"If he isn't a criminal then what are you going to do when you find him?"

"I said he didn't act like a criminal. He's not a criminal by profession, but he still committed a crime."

"We have laws in Rhuel that protect Good Samaritans, even if they make the situation worse in the end. Trying to help people isn't a crime."

Ed looked up and found Mason regarding him coldly.

"Does your father think so too?"

"My father has been the sheriff here for almost my entire life. He knows that we don't have enough evidence to prove that this alchemist did anything that was against the law. That's why you're here."

Ed gave a dry laugh that ended in a wet cough, "That's funny. I thought I was here to re-plant hydrangeas."

"What?"

"Nothing. I just have commanding officer who likes to jerk me around, that's all." Ed weighed his next words carefully before he spoke. "Trying to help people may not be a crime, but impersonating a state alchemist is. Even if he had a good reason for what he did, he still made a bad choice."

Ed gave this time to settle on Mason. He tried not to sound like he was lecturing. The last thing that he needed was to alienate the deputy any more than he already had.

"Just because a person makes one mistake it shouldn't cost him everything," Mason pointed out.

"Depends on the mistake," Ed conceded. "Good people make bad decisions all the time. They still have to pay for them." Ed heard his own voice drop sadly as he spoke. His eyes were on the open book in front of him, but what he saw instead was his brother's face, hidden behind a steel helmet. Ed rallied. He spoke his next words with conviction, "You're a deputy. You should know that."

Mason was quiet for so long that Ed eventually looked up. The deputy was regarding him with a strange expression. For the first time today there wasn't any hostility in his expression. "Huh," he said thoughtfully.

"What?" Ed asked.

Mason shook his head. "Nothing. I just realized that I'm not talking to the person I thought I was talking to."

Ed didn't have anything at all to say to that.

Mason turned his attention to the stove, settling a kettle out to boil water for tea.

Ed dropped his eyes to the last textbook in the stack, a thick green volume, and cracked it open with a sinking feeling in his empty stomach. This nauseating mix of dread and anticipation had become an emotional staple in the years since he and Al had begun their quest to restore their bodies. A familiar mental exhaustion settled over Ed's brain as he thumbed through the pages, counting upwards towards frustrated disappointment.

Those feelings evaporated instantly when Ed was halfway through the book. A jolt of renewed energy sent Ed to his feet, his forefinger, trembling with adrenaline, trapped in the pages of the textbook to hold his place.

"What is it?" Mason asked. "What did you find?"

Ed stood frozen for an instant. Then he swung his gaze over to the deputy. His eyebrows came together in a determined frown. "Leon's not so incompetent after all."

Mason looked even more confused, if that was at all possible.

"I'm going to the bridge," Ed told him.

Mason's voice followed Ed down the stairs, "Wait, I'll come with you!"

There was an abbreviated shout of pain, probably Mason trying to pull the kettle off of the stove without a towel, followed by the unmistakable sound of Mason stripping over Ed's suitcase in his attempt to keep up.

With the exception of Al, whom Ed had been training to follow his lead since his little brother could walk upright, Ed didn't appreciate tagalongs. "Doesn't somebody have to stay here?"

"Yeah," Mason said, grabbing his jacket, and nodding toward the desk. "Walter will watch the station while we're gone."

Sure enough, Walter must have come in while he and Mason were upstairs. The gray-haired deputy had his feet up on the sheriff's desk and was snoring soundly with his hat pulled down over his eyes and his chair tipped back so that it was balanced precariously on two legs.

"Has that guy ever stayed awake through an entire shift?" Ed asked, slowing as he passed the desk. He didn't bother trying to be quiet. He wasn't capable of talking louder than Walter could snore anyway.

Mason seemed to consider the question for a moment, then answered, "Not that I'm aware of."

Ed's adrenaline-fueled burst of energy didn't last long enough to take him to the bridge at a dead run. His stamina had failed him by the time he reached the end of the main street. He reduced his pace to a slow trot and only supreme will power kept him from slowing down further. As it was his pace allowed Mason to stride along easily beside him on his long legs until Ed spotted a big suit of armor near the riverbank. With his goal in sight Ed broke into a staggering jog.

Al turned at the sound of his approaching footsteps. "Brother!" he said, surprised, then, "Brother?" when Ed stopped in front of him and slumped forward, resting his hands on his knees to catch his breath.

Ed held up automail finger, a wordless _gimme a second_ gesture. He was clutching Mason's textbook with his flesh hand, and his forefinger had gone numb from being pinched between the pages for so long.

"Leon's arrays, they worked, Al," Ed eventually gasped out. "He wasn't trying to do anything with the bridge. He was trying to move the _river_."

Ed raised his head to observe Al's reaction, but Al was looking across the river. Ed looked too. On the other side of the bridge there were several men standing around, some of whom Ed recognized from around town. The men from Drachma were there. So were several other bystanders that Ed took to be from out of town as well. Sheriff Biggs and Mr. Fitch were there, and an authoritative-looking middle-aged man whom Ed presumed to be the building inspector was speaking to the group, gesturing animatedly toward the river with his hand like a blade. This far away Ed couldn't hear what he was saying but the other men appeared to be listening attentively, or just nodding like they were. There were pieces of what looked like surveying equipment set up on both sides of the river.

"We know," Al admitted. "The engineer says that the sight lines don't match up with the original measurements that he took when the bridge was built. Leon must have had arrays on the rocks as well, but they've all washed off. But why would he do something like this in the first place?"

Ed wandered closer to the bank and knelt down. He opened Mason's textbook to the page he'd marked with his finger and laid the volume across his knee. The volume was titled _Minerals and Their Uses_, a fantastically boring name that only a geologist would think was appropriately eye-catching. And to a pair of boys searching for the philosopher's stone, it had been. Ed remembered reading it some time ago.

There were arrays printed on the exposed pages, examples in a book about the chemical makeup and properties of different minerals. The chapter that Ed had opened the book to was on mining and excavation. As a side note, it mentioned the use of alchemy as a simple means of earth moving. The book gave examples, very detailed, finely illustrated examples. The arrays printed on the pages were perfect, so perfect that a person could copy every line onto a surface and with the barest alchemic know-how and apply them. And it looked like that was exactly what Leon had done.

Ed scooped up a handful of loose rocks no bigger than the size of Ed's fingernails. "Corundum. Seems like everything in this town comes back to rocks and gems."

"By corundum do you mean sapphires?" Mason asked. Ed had almost forgotten that he as there until he spoke.

"That's my guess. Leon must have recognized these minerals and thought that there was a deposit nearby. Then he tried to uncover it by moving the river. The shifting caused the tremors and the tremors caused the damage to all of those homes."

"But these are all just tailings from the mines." Mason protested, shaking his head. "Corundum forms in igneous rock. The only reason that we would find it in an alluvial deposit is if it washed in from somewhere else." He sounded deeply offended that anyone could be so ignorant about the local geology.

"Just proves he isn't any better at geology than he is at alchemy," Ed remarked. Then he looked between the pages of the textbook and the river, frowning. "Actually I take that back. These arrays are pretty complicated and he managed to relocate the bridge intact. He must have been practicing for a while before he tried them on the real thing. The arrays that he used on the damaged houses were a different story, though. They were amateur, improvised, like he was nervous or in a hurry when he did them."

"Do you still think he moved the river? If the arrays were so different couldn't it have been someone else?"

Ed looked at Mason. The deputy was glaring at the river like it was a conspirator in this whole mess.

"No," Ed answered. "I'm sure. It was Leon."

On the other side of the river the conversation seemed to be heating up. Mr. Fisk was gesturing back and forth between the river and his house and several of the other people standing around were frowning angrily as if he was expressing their thoughts as well. The men who looked like engineers were speaking animatedly as well and the sheriff had positioned himself between the two parties, though Ed wasn't sure which group he was going to have to protect. Mr. Fisk had a cane, and having met the man Ed was sure he wouldn't hesitate to use it in an inappropriate way.

"What's going on over there?"

"The river bank is eroding," Al explained. "When Leon altered the river's course he moved it toward the homes on that side of the river. The soil is too loose and the water is already starting to eat away at the foundations of a few of the houses. Between the two of us I think we can fix the damage, but it would take some time."

Ed could see where the water was lapping at the edge of someone's garden. Several bright pink primroses were already drooping towards the flow and would soon be lost.

"Yeah," Ed agreed, "if we did it all at once we'd cause another earthquake and those houses would end up underwater anyway."

"They're expecting more rain tonight. The engineers want to build a levee and try to repair the damage by hand."

Ed stood up with a determined sigh. He closed Mason's book with a snap and slapped it against the deputy's stomach. "Well, we might as well get started."

Ed tried to take a step forward but Al caught his arm. "Wait, brother. I wouldn't go over there."

"What? Why not?" Ed asked indignantly.

"Because they don't want our help," Al explained, "because they know you're a state alchemist, and we never specifically told anyone that I'm not." Although Al's face couldn't show it, his voice sounded deeply wounded. "They said that alchemy is what caused this in the first place, and they don't need military dogs to show them how to move dirt around."

"How can they say that?" Ed snarled. "We helped them!"

"All we did was correct the mistakes that Leon made. They think that Leon is a state alchemist too, and so they're blaming the military for everything that's happened." Al's fists were clenching and unclenching at his sides, and Ed knew that Al was more incensed on Ed's behalf than he was for himself. When he spoke the calmness in his voice sounded forced. "The sheriff told me to wait over here while they discussed what they were going to do."

"I'll go find out what's going on," Mason said, and started across the bridge at a jog.

Ed looked up at the afternoon sky, which was darkening prematurely as storm clouds crowded in.

"If it floods they'll lose the little brown and white one tonight," Ed said, indicating the bungalow closest to the river's edge.

The primroses were now only bright spots of color under the water.

Al nodded.

By the time Mason returned to them, boots thumping hollowly on the wooden bridge, Ed had pulled his hood over his head. The first few drops of rain patted against the fabric and pinged as they landed on Al's armor.

Mason looked between them uncertainly. Everything in his body language suggested that he was the bearer of bad news.

"They're going to hold a town meeting tomorrow, but it sounds like they're going to let the engineers handle things for now. Dad and Mr. Fisk are trying to argue for letting the two of you help, but it looks like they're the only ones."

"Those idiots!" Ed shouted, half-hoping that the engineers could hear him over the sound of rushing water. "They'd rather let their homes get washed away than set aside their grudges long enough to save them. I don't believe this."

Mason took deep breath and gave Ed a look that implored him to believe it, because it wasn't going to change.

"Come on, Al. Let's go," Ed said bitterly, and turned his back on the river and the people who lived on it. "We've got a fugitive to catch."

To be continued...


	7. Chapter 7

PART 7

Ed set a dull, plodding pace back toward town. Al and Mason followed in stony silence, for which Ed was grateful. It gave his brain time to gnaw away at the mystery of Leon Mueller, though it did choke every so often on unkind thoughts about the townspeople. Ed coughed as they walked and didn't bother to cover it up.

Ed had thought that they would blend in with the festivalgoers on the way back but the stormy skies had sent the crowds scattering. Ed could see them in brightly lit tavern windows and hear them in the music and laughter coming from the inns. Only a few shopkeepers remained outside on the main street, packing up tables and securing their merchandise.

A group of boys chased a hoop across their path and the three of them were forced to pull of short.

"Hey, watch it!" Mason warned.

The littlest boy tossed a frightened look over his shoulder and raced to catch up to the other boys. The rest of them pretended not to have heard the deputy's rebuke.

Ed tried not to notice that the oldest boy looked like he was about Al's age.

Mason growled in frustration at the kids' rude behavior. Ed kept walking. He wouldn't have given a second thought to those boys except that less than a block later Ed heard a loud metallic bang and Al's gasp of surprise.

"Military dogs!" a high-pitched voice shouted. A series of mocking barks and howls punctuated the exclamation.

Instantly on the offense Ed spun around and planted himself protectively in front of his nearly invulnerable brother.

"Who threw that?" Ed snarled. The words were barely out of his mouth when the next rock caught him squarely between the eyes. Ed doubled over; clutching his forehead, then drew himself up abruptly, a trickle of blood running down his nose.

The boys were saved from the wrath of Ed's alchemy through the combined forces of Al's good will and Mason's authoritative presence. Al caught Ed by the shoulders and Mason put a hand out. "I know their parents. Go back to the office. I'll meet you there." Then Mason set off at a jog.

Teeth still bared and framed by his trembling lips Ed did as he was told, but only because Al refused to let go of him. His little brother herded him along but the excitement triggered another of Ed's coughing fits. By the time they reached the station Al was the only thing keeping Ed upright.

As gently as he could, Al set Ed on a chair near the unlit stove and hovered uncertainly.

"I'm okay, Al," Ed assured him between coughs. "Get me some water, please?"

"Right," Al said and rushed off, grateful to have a mission.

Behind the sheriff's desk Walter was still snoring away louder than Ed could cough.

Ed fished around in his pocket until he found Zelda's red-and-white checkered napkin. He covered his mouth with it and coughed deeply, trying to rid himself of the filth that had built up in his lungs. His coughs ended on a wheezing note, and when he coughed too deeply he felt a stabbing pain that folded him in half. When the worst of the pain receded Ed pulled the napkin away from his face and froze. A cold sense of dread filled him from his feet up because there were tiny dots of red, no bigger than pinpricks on the white squares.

Ed folded the napkin back on itself and carefully replaced it in his pocket.

He breathed shallowly until Al came back carrying a cup of cold water.

"Thanks," Ed said, taking the cup from Al's outstretched hand.

"That cough sounds worse, brother," Al said worriedly. "Did you take your medicine?"

Ed considered lying to his brother, but he couldn't see the payoff in doing that. Besides, Al had a way of seeing through Ed's deceptions, and Ed didn't want to push him any further away than he already had. It just didn't seem worth the effort.

"I lost it," Ed admitted.

There was a pause. "You what?" Al demanded. "When?"

"While you were off with the sheriff I visited a bathhouse. The girl who washed my clothes cleaned out my pockets. She must have thrown it away."

"How could she be so careless? Where is the bathhouse?"

Ed shook his head. "I'm sure she didn't mean to. Anyway it's long gone so there's no sense in you digging around in a trash heap."

Al seemed to calm down a little. "Okay. I got it. I think I know where the pharmacy is. I'll go get you a refill."

"Al, they're not going to fill a prescription without a doctor's scrip," Ed told him.

Al's voice only grew more agitated and determined, "Then we'll find a doctor!"

"In this town?" Ed snorted. "The way things are going if we found a doctor he'd probably want to feed me rat poison."

"You don't know that. We have to try."

Ed sighed. He didn't know why he was being so difficult, except perhaps because it was his habit. That, and Ed suspected that if he walked into a hospital right now he wouldn't be walking out any time soon. As long as he kept himself away from doctors he could keep denying that he needed one, and maybe this thing would clear up on its own.

"Al…" Ed began.

"Ed," Al pleaded. He sounded close to tears, tears that he, of course, couldn't shed, "You sound horrible, and I can tell that you have a fever. You need to rest. You need medicine."

Ed forced himself to smile in what he hoped was a reassuring way. "I'll be fine, Al. You don't need to worry about me, okay? Now come here. I want to see if that kid dented your helmet at all."

"You're the one with blood on your forehead! So what if my armor is dented? It's not like anything can hurt me."

But Al was wrong about that. His wounds just didn't show on the outside.

Ed pulled Zelda's napkin out of his pocket again. He was careful how he unfolded it when he used it to swipe at the cut on his forehead, erasing blood with more blood.

"I hate this, brother," Al said, somewhere between solemn and sulking. "I hate how you feel like you have to protect me all the time. I hate how you feel like you have to fix everything. You don't."

"What are you talking about? I let you fix plenty of stuff today."

Al sighed in a way that said he knew Ed was missing the point on purpose.

Outside the rain was coming down in full force now, tapping against the window and pouring off of the eaves.

Mason came banging through the front door of the sheriff's office, shaking water off of his jacket. "Brats," he mumbled as he kicked the door shut behind him.

"What's wrong?" Al asked.

Mason stalked into the room, avoiding eye contact with them. "Let's just say that the parents aren't any better than the kids."

"The way you took off I was sure you'd have dragged somebody back here with you," Ed remarked. It was almost an accusation.

Mason's face flushed as red as Ed's coat.

"Did something happen?" Al asked.

"Nothing you two can do anything about. Sometimes it's best to just let things go." But Mason didn't sound happy about having to follow his own advice. "Dad was trying to be discreet about your association with the military, but I think word has pretty much gotten out."

"Mason…we're sorry if us being here has caused trouble for you and the sheriff," Al ventured. "You were probably looking forward to spending your break from school with your father. I bet you didn't expect this much excitement."

Mason paused and seemed to consider Al for a moment. Then he smiled a little. "The festival is always exciting in one way or another, just usually not like this." Mason rubbed his hands together, then retrieved a box of matches from a drawer and bent down in front of the stove to light it.

Ed hid his relief with a blunt question, "So what do the people in this town have against the military anyway? I know that the state has been responsible for some bad things in the past but you guys seem to have the market cornered on petty resentment."

"It's not that petty," Mason said darkly, fanning the flames. Ed noticed that he didn't bother to exclude himself fro Ed's generalization. "Before the sapphire mines ran dry Rhuel was like a bank for East City. They bought sapphires with military scrip, and then used the sapphires to barter with foreign countries. That was all fine until the value of military scrip began to drop. It got to the point where no one would accept the scrip as payment, and not even the banks in East City would change it for a fair price. So the town voted to stop selling sapphires to the military."

"Let me guess: that didn't go over too well."

"Rhuel closed its mines to the military and the military sent soldiers to force them back open. They took what they wanted and there was nothing anyone could say or do. They finally left Rhuel when there was nothing left to take. They bled this town dry. That was years ago, but everyone in this town knows the story. We managed to survive, but a lot of people still remember having their livelihoods stolen by the state."

Ed felt a twinge of sympathy. He conceded, "I can imagine how something like that would stick with you. And now there's some knucklehead running around town calling himself a state alchemist, knocking down houses and flooding the place. Great. That guy is bad news for everyone."

"You guys are going to have a much tougher time moving around town now. That's for sure. When you go out you should have one of us accompany you in case there's trouble."

Ed understood Mason's reasoning but at the same time he hated the idea of being placed on a leash. Besides, there was another reason for him not to want his movements restricted. Ed opened his mouth to say so but Al beat him to the punch.

"I wouldn't worry about us, Deputy. We can take care of ourselves. If the town is on the lookout for state alchemists, Leon is the one who's really in trouble."

"Yeah, we're used to people wanting to kill us," Ed said casually. "But we're real alchemists. Leon isn't. We need to hurry up and find him before things get out of hand."

Mason's expression was pensive. "I don't understand. Why do you guys care what happens to Leon Mueller?"

"I don't, but the only damage that I want done to that guy is the damage I'm going to inflict on him myself for dragging us out here in the middle of a rain storm."

"Brother!" Al scolded. He said to Mason, "He doesn't mean that. Colonel Mustang sent us out here to investigate the rogue alchemist's activities and report back. He never said what we should do once we found him."

"I've got a few ideas…" Ed's tone made it clear that those ideas involved violence.

"Such as?" Mason asked.

Ed reined himself in. "I figured we'd play it by ear, see what the guy has to say for himself."

What Ed had learned so far led him to question Mason's ability to remain impartial in regards to this case, and not just because he was a native of a town that was still nursing a grudge against the military.

The way that the deputy was looking at him, Ed was certain that Mason was having similar doubts about him.

"Leon has a lot to answer for," Ed said quietly. "The begonias and everything."

Mason's expression shifted from suspicious to puzzled. He exchanged a glance with Al.

"Begonias?"

"Oh, sorry. Hydrangeas." Did Mrs. Bosch even have begonias? Ed couldn't remember. All this thinking was hurting his brain. Ed swept his bangs back against his head, and they stayed there, glued by rain or sweat or both. He felt as if he'd hit a wall, and it was the kind of wall that hit back.

"Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," Ed snapped. "Just can't stand it when things don't add up. People try to help but they only make things worse…" Was he talking about himself or Leon? He felt like his thoughts were all tangled together, one huge snarl that he didn't have the energy to undo. "It's not bad, just wrong, and I can't see the difference. It doesn't make sense."

There was an awkward pause.

"Brother, you're not making much sense yourself right now," Al informed him gently.

What was there to make sense of? Oh, right, Leon.

"You're sweating," Mason observed.

"It's hot in here," Ed accused.

"No it's not."

"Is," Ed assured him with finality, then ended the argument by shutting his eyes.

The room was wonderfully silent for a few moments.

"Ed?"

"Is he-?" Mason asked.

Ed growled out his annoyance at the sound of Mason's voice. His growl turned into a cough, and once he started, the convulsions seized him and shook him like a wet rag. Someone started pounding on his back, which only made the pain in his chest worse, but Ed couldn't tell him to stop. When his coughing finally quieted enough for Ed to care about his surroundings again he found Al kneeling in front of him, his big hand resting between Ed's shoulder blades.

Mason must not have been too far away. "That's blood," Ed heard him say.

He pulled back from his brother a little. It was enough for him to see a burst of red flecks on Al's chest plate, and there was no denying the source.

"It's okay, it's okay," Al mumbled, but he seemed to be talking to Ed, not Mason, and there was a current of panic running underneath his reassuring words. "We need to get a doctor. Is there somewhere we can lay him down?"

"Upstairs." Mason's face was pale. He reached for Ed.

Ed pushed himself to his feet. "Don't touch me. I don't need your help." Despite the wall at his back he found the room was tilting. He lurched to the side to regain his balance and narrowly missed putting his bare hand on the stove.

"Brother!" Al gasped, reaching out for him. Ed tried to push him away and instead ended up clinging to Al's forearm in an effort to stay upright. The floor rolled beneath him like the deck of a ship at sea. Al turned to the deputy and ordered, "Get his other side."

Mason lifted Ed's automail arm and then grunted in surprise, "Oh my God he's heavy! How can someone so small weigh so much?"

Ed made a mental note to cough right in Mason's face once he got enough breath back to do it.

In the meantime Mason wasn't doing his part to hold him up, and Ed couldn't take up the slack. He felt himself start to slump toward the ground, but Al swooped in and scooped him up, cradling him like he had after their failed human transmutation, when the thing that should have been their mother was a sack of bones on their basement floor and Ed was a broken doll with half his limbs torn off.

Ed met Mason's stare around his brother' shoulder and it was that contact, not Al's cold armor, that made him shiver. He made a half-hearted attempt to struggle, then the fight went out of him and he pawed weakly at Al's chest plate.

"Don't let him get away from us," Ed whispered.

"Don't worry, brother. I'll find Leon for you. Just let me take care of it."

But Ed wasn't talking about Leon.

Al reached the upstairs apartment, Ed sagging in his arms. He hesitated, eyeballing the sofa, which was too short for even a person Ed's size to lie down on full length.

Mason noticed his reluctance and squeezed past Al to hold open one of the bedroom doors. "Here, you can put him in my room. It's better than the couch. Go on."

Al nodded his thanks and ducked through the entry. He laid Ed down on the narrow bed in the center of the room. Ed took stock of his surroundings. There were books and papers piled on a small desk in a corner, dresser drawers partially open and articles of clothing peaking out. Put together these details seemed to suggest a lack of time rather than a disinterest in neatness, and Ed didn't care about any of these things beyond what they could tell him about the room's occupant.

Of course he forgot all about his surroundings as the change in elevation triggered another round of violent coughing.

Ed curled protectively around his abused abdominal muscles on the rumpled blankets. "Water," he begged Al between coughs.

Al rushed out of the room, and Ed took the only opportunity that he was likely to get.

He rolled to face Mason and fixed him with the steeliest gaze that he could.

"Where is he?" Ed asked, making it clear through his inflection exactly who he was talking about.

It took Mason a crucial instant to cover his shock, but by then it was too late and Ed knew that he'd been right on target.

Mason was shaking his head in denial, "I- I don't know what you're talking about," he said haltingly.

"Don't lie to me," Ed rasped, his voice low and threatening.

Mason's expression closed up and Ed knew that he'd pushed too hard. He'd put Mason on the defensive and now he wasn't going to get anything out of him except more denials.

A clanking sound heralded Al's approach.

"You should keep quiet," Mason warned Ed. His words were filled with equal parts concern and intimidation.

Al appeared not to notice the open hostility that the two of them shared. He helped Ed to sit up and even held the water glass to Ed's lips, though Ed tried unsuccessfully to take it away.

Ed shut his eyes and focused his energy on keeping his lungs still long enough to drink. Although sending Al from the room might have been a ruse to get Mason alone, but he wasn't pretending the rawness in his throat or the burning in his chest.

Ed only had partial success in his attempt to drink. He pushed the glass away in time to avoid chipping his teeth as bands of steel tightened around his ribcage, squeezing the life out of him. That's how it felt anyway, and he couldn't keep himself from gasping out, "It hurts. It hurts."

"Where?" Al demanded. "What can I do?"

But Ed didn't have an answer for him. Even if he had, he didn't have the breath to voice it.

"Mason, he needs a doctor," Al said urgently.

Ed uncurled his flesh arm from around his torso. With it he reached up and grasped Al's forearm. "No doctor. Please, Al."

"But brother-"

"Stay," Ed begged, tightening his grip on Al's armor.

Al's other hand closed around Ed's fingers. His soulfire eyes met Ed's pleading human ones for a moment, and then he began to peel Ed's fingers off of his arm.

"I'm going to find my father," Mason announced. "He needs to know what's going on. If he gets worse just wake Walter up and tell him to get the doctor, okay?"

Mason left them at a fast walk. Ed used the distraction to renew his grip on Al's armor and pull him close.

"Let him go running to his dad," Ed whispered harshly.

Al turned to him, surprised, "Ed- "

"He knows something he's not telling," Ed explained. It was difficult to speak. With every intake of breath he felt as if the air were made of needles. "I think he knows where Leon is."

"Brother, no. That doesn't make sense," Al's voice changed, became less shocked and more concerned, "Please, you're not well. Don't say things like that."

"Trust me, it makes sense," Ed assured him.

"How?"

Ed couldn't speak, couldn't think, and couldn't explain to Al all of the reasons that his accusation made perfect sense. "It makes sense," he insisted.

"Brother, no," Al said firmly. His normally gentle voice was frighteningly rigid. "Don't say anything else. I don't want to hear it. It doesn't matter."

"Al," Ed said, coughing out the single syllable of his brother's name. "He's going to get away."

"So what? I don't care if Mason knows where he is. I don't care if the whole town knows where he is, or even if he's hiding under the bed right now!" Al exclaimed. "I care about you, you stupid…brother!"

Ed sucked in a shocked breath at hearing sweet, gentle Al talk like this.

Al continued, "Leon Mueller is the reason that you're running yourself into the ground. I hope we never find him!"

"You don't mean that," Ed stated in a whisper.

Al seemed to settle down a bit. Some of the tension drained out of his metal frame.

"I do mean it, brother," he said reasonably. "I know that finding Leon Mueller is important, both to you and this town. But this assignment isn't worth risking your health. I wish I could make you see that. I wish that you would trust people a little more instead of pushing them away. We're only trying to help."

"I do trust you, Al."

"You need to trust Mason and the sheriff too."

Ed grimaced. "They hate us. This whole town hates us," he said sourly.

"They don't like the military. It's not the same thing."

"It might as well be." There was a dark place in the corner of Ed's mind. It was filled with doubt and mistrust and self-loathing for the crimes he'd committed. Ed's negative thoughts pulled that darkness up so that it covered him like a suffocating blanket, overwhelming everything. "They're all against us. I know it."

Al sighed and rose. "I can't talk to you when you're like this."

Ed was surprised when his brother turned his back on him completely and left the room, shutting the door behind him.

Ed lay there in the sudden darkness for several moments, too stunned by his brother's unexpected departure even to think. Before he could formulate a reaction Al returned, his silhouette all but blocking the light from the living room.

Ed didn't see the cold compress that Al placed on his forehead, but he felt it, and the heavy weight of Al's hand as it lingered on his head.

"Rest," Al instructed him.

Ed's mind rebelled, turning again to the rogue alchemist and Mason and Rhuel itself.

Ed's body chose to listen.

To be continued...


	8. Chapter 8

PART 8

Ed dreamed, but his dreams were dark and indistinct. He traveled through them in slow motion, like he was underwater, never able to get his limbs to move quickly enough. He had a goal, but he didn't know what that goal was. He only knew that in his present state it was hopelessly out of his reach.

Ed woke up tangled in sweat-soaked sheets and shivering like one of Al's kittens that had been left outside in the rain.

His first impulse was to take a deep breath, and all that did was start him coughing again. Ed felt an arm snake around his back, hauling him into a sitting position. The arm was warm, so it wasn't his brother's, and thick, so it wasn't Mason's.

The sheriff's uniform trousers were creased, as if he'd been sitting for some time. Ed wondered how long he'd been asleep, and what had happened while he was out.

After a few moments Ed's cough quieted. He sat there, gasping because the air was too thick to breathe. When he could speak, the first words that Ed croaked out were, "Where's Al?"

"Al is in the other room. Do you want me to get him?"

"No!" Al didn't need to see him like this.

Greg Biggs looked a little surprised, but nodded like he understood.

It was dark except for a kerosene lamp burning on the nightstand and the dull orange glow of the stove leaking in through the open door. He could hear music and voices filtering in from the street outside, loud and spirited but muted by the walls so that individual words were difficult to distinguish. So it was night now, but not late enough for the revelers to have gone to bed. That answered Ed's question about how long he'd been asleep.

Ed heard a clinking sound in the dark, and then felt the rim of a glass pressing against his lips. "Drink." It was an order, not a request, and Ed managed a few sips before the water spilled around the corners of his mouth and he had to choose between turning his head away and drowning. "A little more," the sheriff insisted, but Ed kept his lips shut tight. Swallowing hurt too much.

"Okay," the sheriff conceded. "You win."

Ed heard the clinking sound again as the sheriff set the glass next to the kerosene lamp. It was the sound of the sheriff's wedding band touching the glass.

"Your fever is down a little," the sheriff told him. "Your brother said you didn't want a doctor."

Ed let his silence speak for him.

"Well, for the time being you got your wish, Mr. Elric…Ed. We only have one doctor and he's got his hands full right now." The sheriff's voice was calm and level, but his posture and movements showed his exhaustion. He ran a hand over his face. "One of the engineers that was working on our problem with the river slipped on a boulder and fell into the water. He broke an arm and a leg. Two other men were hurt trying to pull him out."

Ed's eyes widened. He found himself examining the sheriff more closely, noting the dirt under his fingernails, the scrapes on his big knuckles and the creases of exhaustion around his eyes. It looked as if the sheriff had had a hand in the rescue of those men as well. "You okay?" Ed asked.

The sheriff seemed amused by his concern. "Thanks for asking. I'm doing a lot better than you are."

"Those stubborn idiots," Ed muttered angrily. "Can't accept a little help when they really need it. Can't let the military dogs deal with a little problem like changing the course of an entire river. No, they have to move their own rocks around and mess it all up…" he trailed off, wanting to say so much more but lacking the stamina to do it. Besides, Ed felt sort of guilty for condemning the townspeople, considering what the military had done to them in the past.

The sheriff was regarding him with a surprised, almost amused expression.

"What?"

"Nothing," he sighed. Then he stunned Ed by agreeing, "I know how you feel. It's frustrating, but there isn't a whole lot that you can do to convince someone that the beliefs he grew up with are wrong, so there's no use dwelling on it. You just do the best that you can and hope they come around."

Ed didn't just feel anger at the townspeople's prejudice. He felt remorse and sadness too. People had been injured unnecessarily, and they could have been killed. He was angry with them and angry with himself. He could have insisted. He could have repaired the river without their permission, although they probably would have resented him for it.

Ed was surprised to feel tears leaking down his cheeks. He blamed it on the fever, on the pain in his chest and the burning in his throat. He was grateful that the darkness hid his face.

"The doctor said he would come by when he has the chance, but that won't be until tomorrow at the earliest. It's late now. You should try to get some more sleep."

"Sheriff?"

"Hmm?"

"Can I ask you something?" Ed struggled to master his abused vocal cords. He had to speak slowly to make his words intelligible. "How important is it to you that we catch this guy?"

The sheriff was shaking his head. "It's less important than making sure no one else in this town gets hurt, and that includes you and your brother."

"Well, catching him is important to me," Ed wheezed.

"Stop talking," the sheriff said in a low, soothing voice. He reached towards the nightstand where a shallow bowl of water rested. Ed could see the dim orange light reflecting off of the surface. It danced when the sheriff dipped a washcloth into it and wrung it out before placing it on Ed's forehead.

Cool droplets of water rolled down Ed's temple and soaked into the pillow, which was already drenched with sweat.

The sheriff was trying not to engage him in conversation. Maybe he thought that Ed's words were feverish ravings. Maybe he was right. It didn't make them less true.

"It's important to me that people pay for their crimes," Ed explained, unsolicited. "It's not enough to fix his mistakes and hope he doesn't do it again. I have to make sure that he can't hurt anyone else."

"I can see that," the sheriff said. "You don't have much faith in people, do you? Usually it takes a lifetime for a person to become so cynical."

Ed looked down at his mismatched hands, lying on top of the covers. His arms were bare. Someone had stripped him down to his undershirt and shorts. He could feel the metal of his prosthetic leg rubbing against his real one.

The sheriff cleared his throat. "I knew that your arm was automail. I didn't know about your leg. You must have had some accident," he said sympathetically. "I suppose that's why your brother wears the armor."

Ed shook his head, "No accident."

Although the sheriff had said 'accident', Ed felt as if he were only using that word to get to the truth. What he said next confirmed Ed's suspicions; "You were injured in the line of duty then."

Again Ed denied it. "My fault," he insisted.

The sheriff looked at him for a long time, searching his face like the truth might be hidden there. Finally he said, "You're young. You're supposed to make mistakes. That's how you learn." He shook his head, "But someone should have been looking out for you." He spoke with the authority and certainty of a sheriff and a parent both.

There was no easy way for Ed to explain away the choices that had brought him to this point. "I was old enough to know better."

"Okay, mister state alchemist," the sheriff said, his voice completely devoid of humor. He looked up, like he was studying the ceiling. "Children in the military. What's the world coming to?"

Ed's eyes drifted to the sheriff's hand, to the scratched wedding band glinting in the lamplight. If the sheriff was going to get personal, then so was he. "Where's your wife?"

Ed spoke out of pure curiosity, his candor fueled by physical misery. He was beyond caring how inappropriate his question was or whether or not the answer was something that he wanted to hear.

The sheriff paused. He appeared to consider his answer carefully before giving it to Edward, probably wondering whether or not Ed would remember it at all come morning. The sheriff kept his answer short and simple. "It's been just Mason and I for a long time."

"Oh…sorry." Ed said through dry, cracked lips. He remembered what Mason had told him earlier, about his father becoming sheriff in order to pay the bills. Raising a child as a single parent must have been very difficult.

Raising two…

"Does Mason remember her?"

The sheriff didn't have to think long about that answer. "I doubt it. She died when he was barely a year old."

When he looked up Ed was ready to meet his eyes. "Better that way," Ed said, very sure.

He began coughing and turned away. The sheriff held him upright. Ed felt him press a dry cloth to his mouth. It muffled the sound of his cough and caught the coppery wetness that landed there.

When he was done the sheriff fed him a few sips of water and eased him back onto the pillows that were piled at the head of the bed. Ed watched him examine the cloth in the dim light.

"Not good, huh?" Ed asked, a drop or two of fear seeping through the nonchalance in his voice.

The sheriff looked up. Both his eyes and his words conveyed the gravity of the situation. "Could be better. If you wear yourself out it's definitely going to get worse. I want you to stay put. Rest. Understand?"

Ed nodded, an automatic response. Too late, he realized that he'd just taken an order.

"I'm going to make my rounds tonight, but I won't stay out long. Mason and your brother are here if you need anything, and Walter is downstairs."

The sheriff watched Ed quietly, either hesitating or waiting for an acknowledgment.

"I'm not going anywhere," Ed said.

"Good. Get some sleep. Is there anything that I can get you?"

Ed's body liked the suggestion of 'sleep'. He let his eyes fall shut and shook his head at the sheriff's question, anything to get him out of the room more quickly.

The sheriff opened the door and slid from the room quietly, the momentary increase in light barely registering against Ed's eyelids.

With the sheriff gone Ed took deeper, less cautious breaths. As he expected the increase of air flowing into his lungs made him cough, and he curled into mattress, dampening the sound of his labored breathing. At least with the sheriff there Ed had had something to distract him from the pain in his chest, but left by himself the pressure on his lungs felt that much greater. The struggle to breathe was almost overwhelming, and Ed was tired, miserably tired, but with his chest in agony he didn't see how he was going to be able to get the sleep that his body craved.

For a long time Ed concentrated only on keeping still and staying as silent as possible. He didn't want to draw attention to himself and bring Al or anyone else into the room. There wouldn't be anything that they could do anyway. Let Al think he was sleeping, and maybe if he stayed still long enough, he might be able to.

Eventually sounds began to filter in from outside, and Ed couldn't help but concentrate on them. He could hear the noise of the people in the street, a bottle breaking, a deep, booming laugh. Then he heard the creak of the floor in the next room, and the sound of the door opening. Closer still, the soft clanking of his brother's armor, the squeak of his joints as he moved slowly and cautiously to Ed's bedside.

Ed lay as still as possible and fought to take shallow, even breaths.

After what seemed like an endless amount of time Al retreated and shut the door gently behind him.

Ed sucked in a desperate breath, seeing stars. He heard soft voices in the next room. They belonged to Mason and Al.

"He's sleeping?"

"Mm hmm. I think he's breathing a little better now." Al sounded hopeful and a little relieved. Ed felt a guilty sort of relief as well.

"That's good," Mason said courteously. "My dad said that there was a little blood. Not much. His fever is still pretty high, though." A pause. Then, "Hey…it's okay."

"I never should have let him come here. I should have stopped him," Ed heard Al say tearfully.

"Do you really think you could have? Your brother's pretty stubborn, but he's a tough kid. I'm sure he'll be okay," Mason kept his voice upbeat.

"I hope so. The doctor in East City said that it was just the seasonal flu, but I've never seen him so sick. What do you think is wrong?" Al asked nervously.

"Dad thought it might be some kind of chest infection. We'll just have to see what the doctor says." On the one hand Ed was grateful to him for trying to make Al feel better, and on the other hand he was jealous because big brother pep talks were his department. "It won't do your brother any good to beat yourself up about it. We'll just have to wait and see."

"I know…" Al sighed. "I just wish that there was something more I could do."

"You're already doing everything that you can for him."

"It's not just that. I…told Ed that I hope we don't find Leon Mueller, but that's not true. I know that Ed is right. What he's doing is dangerous, and if he's not caught he'll probably hurt someone eventually. I wish that I could help you and the sheriff find him, but it's going to be very difficult if the people in this town are against us. And I can't leave Ed like this."

Mason dismissed Al's concerns, "Don't worry about it. This is more important, right? You and your brother have done plenty to help this town already."

"Brother said that the people in this town don't like us being here. He was right, wasn't he?"

There was a quiet moment. Mason seemed to be gathering his thoughts. Finally he said, "You shouldn't worry about that. Dad and Walter and I sometimes aren't the most popular people in town either. We just do our jobs and try to treat people fairly and hope that everyone realizes that we have their best interests in mind. It's not easy but that's what you have to do."

Al sighed, "I know. I guess I was just hoping that you'd tell me that Brother was wrong."

Ed felt his heart constrict for his sensitive little brother. As menacing as Al looked on the outside, he could be so easily upset by the cruel things that people thought or said to him, even if they weren't true.

"Hey," Mason changed the subject, "did you get through to your commanding officer? Mustang?"

At the mention of the colonel's name Ed froze where he lay and focused all his energy on Al's answer.

"Yeah, I did. Well, sort of. I left a message with his lieutenant. I told her everything that we'd found out and I told her about Ed. Brother will be mad, but I don't care. He's not well enough to finish the assignment."

Well, Al was right about that. Ed felt a little betrayed, but what did he expect? Still, this had to be some kind of insubordination.

"Did she give you any orders?" Mason asked.

"Orders?" Al asked. Ed supposed he'd momentarily forgotten that Mason didn't know that he wasn't in the military. "No. She said to stay put and she'd have the colonel call me as soon as he has a chance…and she said she hoped Ed felt better."

"What do you think the colonel will say?" Mason asked. His tone was casual but there was a note of genuine curiosity in his voice.

"I don't know. He usually doesn't say very much. Ed and I usually don't find out what his plans are until afterward."

"Do you think he'll send someone else?"

A pause. "The colonel doesn't like to leave loose ends. If Ed and I can't take care of the situation, or at least find a way to make sure Leon Mueller doesn't do something like this again, he'll find someone who can." Al answered ominously.

Al was being vague on purpose. He might be a little more inclined to see the good in people than Ed was, but Al was still sharp. He could tell when someone was shining him on. What he said next confirmed Ed's theory.

"Deputy," Al said formally. "I'm very grateful for everything you and your father have done to help us. Thank you."

"Oh," Mason sounded caught off guard, embarrassed. "Uh, you're welcome."

"Now I need to ask you a question, and I need you to be honest with me."

"Okay…" Mason said guardedly.

"Earlier my brother said that he thought you knew something about this case, that you had information that you weren't sharing with us. Was he right?"

A tense silence followed. Ed could hear only the beating of his heart.

"Al- " Mason started. He made the name a plea.

"Tell me. If you know something then you need to tell me. If you don't, I can't help you."

Examining Al's words Ed noticed than Al had never said that he would help Mason even if he confessed.

After a long while Ed heard Mason whisper, "It's not what you think."

"I don't know what to think, Mason. I'm not here to judge you. I'm sure that you had a good reason for helping Leon."

"I didn't help him," Mason sounded vaguely offended.

"But you know where he is."

"Al…it's complicated."

"I'm listening," Al said gently.

Ed was proud of his brother. Al's gentle prying could open doors that remained shut despite all of Ed's kicking and banging.

"Leon is just a kid. He's a freshman at the university. We have some of the same classes, but we're not exactly friends. He's more of… I don't know… a tag-along. He was looking for something to do over semester break, so I told him he should come and check out the rock and gem festival. That was it."

"So you invited him?"

"Yeah, well, I guess you could say that," Mason admitted dejectedly.

"Did you tell your dad that he was coming?"

"What was there to tell? It wasn't like I invited him to stay with us. At the time I just thought I was making a suggestion. Most of the other geology majors find their way here eventually. There are at least three or four other students in town right now that I know of."

"Is he staying with one of them?"

"Not likely. They're all upper classmen, seniors and graduate students. I wasn't even sure that Leon had come here until after the earthquake happened and his name started popping up."

"Have you seen him since all of this happened?"

More silence.

"Mason," Al prompted.

"No." Mason's voice hardened; became determined. "Listen, it's my fault that he's here in the first place. It's not your responsibility and I'm sorry that you and your brother got dragged into this in the first place. Leon's a good kid. He just…doesn't know what he's doing. He isn't a criminal and he doesn't deserve to be punished like one. Please just leave this to me."

"Maybe we can help. You don't have to handle this alone."

"Honestly? I'm a little afraid of what will happen if your brother ever gets a hold of him."

Ed felt his eye begin to twitch at that. Deputy or not that guy had some nerve implying that Ed wasn't a complete professional when it came to doing his job.

"You should at least tell your dad what you know."

"I think it might be a little late for that now. Besides, I don't think it will help at all. You're not thinking of telling him, are you?"

"You know what's right. If this is really your responsibility then you should own up to it. I came here to help my brother find Leon Mueller. If I can still find a way to do that, I will."

"What about your brother?" Mason inquired.

"If I can't help him get well, then finishing this assignment for him is the least I can do. If I do that then maybe I can put his mind at ease. He wanted to catch the rogue alchemist so badly that he was willing to risk himself to do it. That's the way that he is. He pushes everything to the limit and he doesn't think about himself."

What was there to think about? He had a job to do, a mission that bastard Mustang had assigned him, like a challenge. It seemed like he was always looking for a ways to push his buttons, to test him, to break him. He heard that's what they did in boot camp, and in those fancy military academies: break you down and build you back up into the kind of soldier that the military wanted. That was probably where Mustang had been taught all of his little games. It was easy for Ed to imagine Mustang as a teenager in one of those places. Bastard had probably been class leader, or a hall monitor or had some kind of bullshit responsibility reserved for overly ambitious, self-serving know-it-alls.

Ed opened his eyes, shocked because he didn't remember closing them.

It was light in Mason's room. Not nighttime anymore, but day. Full daylight was streaming through the curtains, laying well-defined squares on the bed linens that covered Ed's legs.

Ed sat bolt upright.

When the hell had he gone to sleep?

He listened carefully, but Al and Mason's voices had vanished completely along with the darkness. He must have fallen asleep in the middle of their conversation. He remembered that they'd been talking about Leon Mueller. Ed struggled to recall the content of their conversation, trying to remember whether Mason had revealed his location or given some kind of clue about where he could be found. He felt a surge of anger at himself for falling asleep in the middle of such an important exchange. How could he have done something so stupid?

Ed found his answer as he tried to climb out of bed and the floor rolled sickeningly beneath him. Unable to stand he dropped back onto the mattress and tucked his head between his knees until the sparks had cleared from his vision. It took a very long time.

Ed was used to physical challenges. He was used to training hard and to being constantly out of breath. He was used to pain. Still, he'd never felt anything quite like this before, this heaviness inside him, sapping the energy from his core outward, turning his limbs to lead. He tried to focus and employ the breathing techniques that his teacher had taught them, but no matter how deeply he breathed Ed felt like he couldn't get enough air.

Ed surveyed the room. It looked so much different in the daylight, with little motes of dust floating in the shaft of light coming from the window. It wasn't messy, but it was used, lived-in, and comfortable. His clothes had been folded and placed on the top of Mason's desk and his red coat had been hung over the back of Mason's chair at his desk. Ed's suitcase was sitting next to his boots on the floor. Strange. It almost looked as if Ed and not Mason was the one returning home from college for a visit. Ed felt his chest tighten at the thought. It was times like this, when he was sick or hurt or run down that he longed for a place to call home. Ed mentally slammed a door on those thoughts. Thinking like that was a weakness. He refused to dwell on what he'd lost. He refused to think about what might have been if things had turned out differently. This was someone's home and he was an intruder here, or at the very least an unwanted guest.

With the goal of dressing himself framed in his mind Ed mustered the energy to stand and walk the five or so steps to his suitcase. Once he was up and moving he found that things were easier. As he fumbled with his buckles and zippers he even managed to convince himself that he was feeling a little better, and would feel better still as the day went on.

Ed crept into the Biggs' tiny living room, being cautious of anyone who might be asleep on the sofa, but the room was empty. He paused and listened carefully but he couldn't detect anyone moving around in the other bedroom or downstairs. Ed couldn't immediately tell how late in the morning it was by the slant of the light through the window, but outside the streets were still quiet. There was cold air seeping in through the cracks around the window. The air had a humid bite to it that spoke of rain. It made his stumps ache and sent a chill straight to his bones. Ed's thoughts turned to the little brown and white house sitting on the edge of the river. He wondered if the water had risen high enough during the night to claim it. Maybe that was why no one seemed to be around this morning.

Ed let gravity pull him down the stairs one jarring step at a time, fully expecting Al to call out to him as he descended and scold him for not staying in bed. To his surprise, that didn't happen. In fact the sheriff's office was silent as the grave.

A feeling of unease crept over him.

When Ed reached the bottom of the stairs he discovered the reason for the unexpected quiet: the office was unmanned, and the front door was wide open.

To be continued...


	9. Chapter 9

PART 9

"What the hell?" Ed whispered hoarsely to himself. A half dozen horrifying possibilities played out in his mind, all involving Al coming to some kind of harm while Ed had been asleep. Panic rose so quickly inside of him that he was almost sick with it.

Ed started walking towards the open door, gaining momentum with each step, the pressure in his chest forgotten. He was halfway to his goal when Mason Biggs appeared in the doorway, hopping lightly up the steps from the muddy street. His posture seemed relaxed, like a man who had just been relieved of a heavy burden. The deputy's eyes were on the road behind him, so he didn't see Ed until he was finished wiping the mud off of his boots. When he saw the state alchemist standing motionless in the center of the room he started visibly, and the look on his face was very similar to the expression Al wore when had Ed caught him trying to smuggle a kitten into their dorm room.

But first things first, Ed decided.

"Where's my brother?"

"He's at the town meeting, trying to convince a bunch of hard-heads that alchemy is the right fix for their problem," Mason explained, moving toward the desk. His eyes flitted back and forth over the surface, as if he were trying to decide if anything were missing, or if the drawers had been opened. "The sandbags are holding for now, which is good, but that isn't exactly helping Al make his case."

"The river?"

"Still rising, but right now we're doing everything we can."

"Not everything," Ed said. He began coughing and covered his mouth with the sleeve of his red coat.

"What are you doing up?"

"Can't lay in bed all day," Ed told him. "Still have a job to do."

Mason was shaking his head. "No, I don't think so. Listen, you need to let Al take care of things here. You were coughing up _blood_ last night. You look like a sack of vegetables that's a week past expiration."

"Says you," Ed said stubbornly.

"Oh, for the love of- " Mason began, wiping a hand down his face. He ripped the sheriff's chair out from behind the desk and shoved it at Ed. "Sit down!"

Ed glanced at the chair, then back up at Mason, and knew that his options were to A: sit in the chair or B: be pushed into the chair, and he didn't think that he would have the energy to resist option B.

Ed sat. He dropped his elbows onto his knees and coughed weakly at the floor.

Mason parked himself in the desk, arms folded across his chest. Gone was the helpful, easy-going university student. Mason Biggs was actually quite an imposing figure, and Ed felt for the first time that the deputy might have some sort of authority over him.

Ed reacted in the same way that he always did when confronted by an authority figure.

"What the hell are you looking at?"

Mason's posture didn't change. "I don't know how your brother puts up with you, but I'll tell you what, I have a lot of respect for him right now."

"You leave Al out of this!"

"You brother is the only reason I'm still trying to help you."

"Concealing the location of a wanted criminal? Is that what you call 'help'?"

Mason's eyes narrowed, but he didn't try to deny the charge. "You heard us talking last night," he concluded.

"I heard you lying."

Mason shook his head calmly, "I told Al the truth."

"You told Al part of the truth," Ed corrected him. "But you left some things out. I think you've been helping Leon since he got here."

"You may be smart and you may know a lot about alchemy but you're just a kid. You don't know everything, and until you learn not to talk when you should be listening, you never will."

"I have a job to do. You're in my way."

"So move me," Mason challenged him.

Ed shot up out of the sheriff's chair with a snarl, so enraged that he didn't even think of transmuting his automail before he launched himself at the deputy.

Ed grasped at Mason's collar, but Mason swept his hands aside effortlessly and Ed slammed into the edge of the desk, absorbed most of his momentum with his outstretched hands and the rest with his stomach. Gagging, he curled in on himself and sank to his knees in front of the desk.

Ed slumped there, trembling, until he felt a hand grasp his shoulder firmly, then he used the dregs of his rage to turn and punch Mason right in his stupid face. It occurred to him in passing that he might live to regret punching a law enforcement officer in the face, but his only regret at the moment was that he didn't use his automail fist.

Mason staggered back a couple of paces, shaking his head as if to clear it.

"Tell me where Leon is!" Ed commanded.

Mason moved his jaw around, testing.

"You're a real piece of work, you know that?"

"Shut up."

"Stop it," he said. He put a hand on Ed's back, and Ed couldn't tell if it was meant to comfort or restrain. "Just stop for a minute. All you're doing is hurting yourself."

"Save it. I'm not in the mood," Ed cut him off. "Just tell me where your friend is."

"I'm not his friend," Mason insisted.

"Fine. Classmate. Whatever. He got that array from the same book you showed me. It's a course book from the university, so I knew that he either got the book from you or you're in the same class."

"I haven't been helping him do alchemy if that's what you're accusing me of."

"Did I say that? I know you're not helping him do alchemy. You're smarter than that. No, you're just hiding him because you don't want your friend to get in trouble."

"I told you, I'm not- "

"His friend? That would be the smart thing to say. I'm sure that's what you told your dad when he asked you if you knew Leon. And yes, I'm sure he asked when he found out the kid's age. It's only natural that he'd pursue that line of questioning. Central University's a big place. I've been there, but I'm betting that your dad hasn't."

"What makes you say that?"

"Because if he had, he'd know that the geology department only has about a hundred students. If you and Leon were both geology majors, even if you weren't in the same year, there's no way that the two of hadn't met. You say you're not close, but the way you protect him, the way you lie for him, even though you're a deputy and you should be turning him in, it's like you're his older brother or something."

"I told Al, he's like a tag-along," Mason said, and the irritation in his voice was probably for Ed and Leon both.

"That's what little brothers do."

Mason's annoyed expression faded from his face.

"You're an upper classman, a deputy, and you're from Rhuel, a place that's famous among geologists. He looks up to you. He followed you home and you didn't have the heart to turn him out. I'm betting that he was here the night that we arrived, that he was upstairs while your dad was out on patrol. That's why you didn't invite us to stay."

"You think you're so smart. That's not what happened."

"Then fill me in."

Mason shook his head, "If I'm as guilty as you say then why don't you just skip the interrogation and send the military to arrest me."

"Believe me, I would, but it's not you I'm after."

"So if I rat him out you'll let me go? Is that what you're saying?"

Ed looked up and met Mason's gaze, which was as hardheaded as his own, and knew that they were at a standstill. He let the tension drain out of his shoulders. He coughed. Then he kept coughing until his stomach hurt and he couldn't breathe.

"Hey," Mason said, kneeling in front of him. "You okay?"

Ed couldn't answer. Mason put a hand on his shoulder and Ed shrugged him off.

Sighing in frustration Mason sat back on his heals. "Go back to bed. Let me handle your stupid mission for you."

Ed gasped in a painful breath. "Like hell I will."

"Unbelievable. Listen, if it'll put your mind at ease…" Mason seemed to hesitate. "He was never here. He asked and I said no. He stayed someplace nearby, with a friend of mine. But he's not there anymore. That's where I was just now. I told him he needed to leave, now. If I see him again, I'll arrest him myself. You have my word on that."

His word, huh?

"He's just a stupid kid. Let it go, Edward."

But even stupid kids have to pay for their mistakes.

With Mason's help Ed staggered to his feet, coughing a few more times until his throat was clear.

"Thanks for the info," Ed said, then broke free of Mason's grip, heading for the front door as fast as his legs would carry him.

"Hey!" Mason shouted after him. "Where are you going?"

Ed ignored him and followed his instincts down the block to the bakery, aware that Mason was trailing behind him.

Zelda popped up from behind the counter when she heard the sound of the little bell over the door.

"Oh, hello Edward," she greeted him. "Is Al with you? You never came by for lunch yesterday."

Zelda's expression became uncertain as a breathless Mason followed Ed through the bakery's front door.

"Excuse me," Ed said as he let himself behind the counter and made his way to the back room uninvited.

"Oh, wait, what are you-?" Zelda protested.

"Edward, stop!" Mason commanded. He moved to block Ed bodily. Ed sidestepped and Mason shoved him. Ed turned himself, but he was slow. The move caught him off guard and he lost his balance and fell against a stack of flour sacks.

Ed glared up at Mason hotly from his sprawl. Mason took a step back. He looked slightly horrified at what he'd done. Zelda was standing behind the deputy, eyes wide, hands covering her mouth.

Slowly, and with as much dignity as he could muster Ed stood. He dusted himself off, continuing to glare at Mason and at Zelda for good measure. Neither one of them made a move to stop him or help him as he shrugged his flour-dusted red coat back onto his shoulders and turned towards the back of the shop. He tried the handle on the stockroom door and found it stuck. He braced his shoulder against the door and shoved.

"Edward… Ed, stop," Mason tried to reason with him.

But Ed was past the point of being reasoned with. He stood back and clapped his hands, and then he placed them on the door. There was a burst of blue light and the door, reduced to several planks of wood and a handful of hardware, fell inward with a clatter. Zelda's shocked gasp followed.

Ed barged into the storage room, fully expecting to be met with some kind of resistance, but there was none. The room was dark and the air inside was dusty and still. Ed stood for a moment, staring in disbelief at the empty room, half-hoping that if he stood there long enough Leon Mueller would drop in from the ceiling.

"He's not here," Mason said, coming up behind him. "I was trying to tell you that but you probably wouldn't have believed me anyway."

"No," Ed agreed, his voice low, flat and empty of emotion, "probably not."

Ed blinked at the empty room. His eyes were starting to water from the dust in the air. His manic energy seemed to have abandoned him, drained away through the soles of his feet. Ed swayed where he stood and put a hand to the doorjamb to steady himself.

He'd been certain. Ed's instincts had never steered him wrong before. Sometimes they were a little off-target but they more or less never failed him.

Mason grew impatient and put a hand on Ed's shoulder. He turned Ed around and Ed let him do it.

"Mason?" Zelda's soft voice inquired. She was looking back and forth between the deputy and the alchemist. Her brows were drawn together, but she seemed more concerned now than angry. "What's going on?"

"I'm sorry about this. Everything's okay."

"Is it?" she said uncertainly.

"Yes, we're leaving. Edward," Mason prompted. Ed had stopped in his tracks.

"Hold on a minute," Ed mumbled, and dropped heavily to his knees in front of the storage room door. He touched his palms together again and restored the door to its original form. Good as new.

Behind him Zelda and Mason stood speechless.

With one hand on his knee and one on the counter Ed hauled himself to his feet, then turned away from the storage room and began a slow, plodding march back the way he had come.

"Do you want me to get someone? Your father?" Ed heard Zelda whisper.

"No, it's okay," Mason said. "I'll handle him. I'll come by later, okay?"

"Okay," Zelda agreed, though she still sounded a little shaken.

Outside it had begun to rain again.

Ed coughed into his fist. "Will you tell her that I'm sorry about the commotion?" he requested as they made their plodding way back down the street towards the sheriff's station.

"Sure," Mason answered. The deputy had his hand wrapped around Ed's flesh bicep. Ed couldn't tell if Mason was supporting him or taking him into custody, and right now his feverish brain was too busy turning over the question of Leon Mueller for him to care which it was.

When they reached the sheriff's office, Mason let him go and shut the door quietly behind them. Ed noticed for the first time that there were dark circles under Mason's eyes. He looked worn and old.

"What are you so down about?"

Mason cocked his head, "Are you serious? I just chased a friend out of town, and I don't know how I'm going to explain to Zelda what just happened." he said, wiping a hand down his face. "Ugh. She probably thinks we're both crazy. Thanks, for that."

Ed ignored Mason's concerns about his girlfriend. "So you admit that Leon's your friend now?"

Mason rolled his eyes. "Know what? Forget it. I'm not going to play word games with you anymore. You pick apart everything I say. I don't know what you're looking for."

"The truth." And if he had to dig to find it… "Let me ask you something. Did he ever tell you why?"

"Why he moved the river? He was looking for sapphires. He really thought there was a deposit under the river. Idiot."

"But why the rest of it? Why try to fix things?"

Mason frowned at him. "Why wouldn't he?" A thought seemed to occur to him, and his puzzled expression disappeared. "Ed, he wasn't looking for sapphires for himself. He wasn't trying to get rich. He was doing it for the town."

Ed blinked at him dumbly.

"Who wouldn't want to seen Rhuel up and thriving again? Do you get it? He wasn't doing this to get rich or to become famous."

"You don't know that for sure."

Mason sighed and his shoulders slumped forward wearily, "Yes, I do, because I know Leon. That's the kind of person he is. Not everyone's motives are selfish."

"No," Ed said with conviction. "In the end, everyone's motives are selfish. Money and power aren't the only things that can be gained from breaking rules. Part of the reason that laws exist is to protect people from the selfishness of others."

Mason considered him for a moment, and then he said, "I feel sorry for you."

That caught Ed off guard, but just for an instant. He ducked his head. "I guess it doesn't really matter why he did it. Leon committed a crime. He needs to face the consequences."

"That may work in alchemy, where all the lines are clear. Something is either inside the circle or outside. It's either affected or it's not. There's no in-between. But we're talking about real life. I may be a deputy, but I'm still part of the same community as the people I serve. We have to have the same goal. That's how a community survives. It's my job to decide whether or not something is inside of those lines or outside. If I obey the letter of the law and ignore the spirit of the law, I'm not doing the community any good. Everything I do affects everything else, either positively or negatively."

Ed was silent, because instead of formulating a contrary argument, he was actually listening to Mason's words. To his surprise, they made sense.

One is all.

All is one.

"Maybe you can't see it," Ed told Mason, "but we're both saying the same thing."

The two of them were silent for a moment.

"I feel awful," Ed said, crushed by the sincerity of his own words.

Mason dropped his hands to his side. The wooden floor creaked under him as he shifted his weight.

"You should go back to bed," Mason told him sympathetically. But he sounded like he was the one who needed rest.

Mason shoved gently on Ed's arm, a touch meant to steer him towards the stairs. Ed rolled his shoulder forward and let Mason's hand slide off of him.

He would not be moved.

"Did you say you sent him to the train station?"

"Edward," Mason warned.

"'Cause as long as I'm up… "

Ed started walking, this time towards the back door of the office, mentally mapping out the town in his head. The train station was half a mile away at most, maybe less if he cut through the alley behind the main road.

"Ed, stop!" Mason shouted.

Ed wheeled around on him, grabbing the nearest wall for support. Ed was dizzy and feverish. His hands were shaking. His breathing was ragged, but he was young. He was strong. He'd trained his body to work through sickness and pain, and as long as there was a glimmer of hope that he might reach his goal, it was enough to keep him on his feet and moving.

Ed's head snapped around. He bared his teeth. "Stay out of my way or I will make you regret it!"

Mason actually backed up a step, probably because he could read the sincerity in Ed's eyes.

Ed burst out of the back door and into the muddy alley like a shot fired from a cannon. He ricocheted off the bathhouse and redirected himself toward the train station, moving as fast as his sluggish legs would carry him.

Given the weather conditions the streets and alleyways were nearly empty. A young woman carrying a basket of eggs ducked quickly out of Ed's way when she heard footsteps behind her. A pair of elderly men stood on a balcony above the street, leaning on the rail and smoking long-stemmed pipes. They followed the progress of the alchemist and the deputy with subdued interest as the boys charged down the street underneath their balcony.

Before long Ed was gasping for breath. He could hear his pulse pounding in his ears, throbbing in his temples. Black dots clouded his vision, and numbness that had nothing to do with the mud or the weather climbed up his legs, flesh and automail alike. Darkness was closing in on Ed from all sides, like the alley walls looming closer and closer. As hard as it pressed in, it only made him push back that much harder.

Ed was so focused on reaching the train station that he almost missed it…almost missed _him_… the young man who flattened himself against a crumbling garden wall to get out of Ed's way. He almost missed Mason's faltering steps, which interrupted an effortless rhythm that the deputy had used to keep pace with him this far.

Ed skidded to a halt, sliding in the mud and catching himself with one hand on the ground to redirect himself.

Ed looked at Mason. Mason looked at the frightened young man, who had frozen, stiff and wide-eyed at the sight of them. He was wearing wrinkled black trousers that were caked with mud and dirt around the cuffs. His tie and vest were undone. He carried a jacket in one hand and a worn leather suitcase, which looked as if it had been packed in one hell of a hurry, in the other. One of the latches was undone and a piece of dark clothing was peeking out, wagging like a panting tongue.

For one motionless beat the three of them stood staring at one another. Everything stopped, even the rain, like time itself was holding its breath in anticipation.

To be continued...


	10. Chapter 10

PART 10

"Run, Leon!" Mason shouted.

Ed rolled his eyes and countered, "Don't run, Leon."

For a panicked instant Leon looked from Ed to Mason and back again, then bolted in the direction of the town, past the deputy and away from Ed.

Ed clapped his hands together and smacked them against the garden wall. Stone rods sprang from the wall and cut off Leon's escape.

Ed marched toward him, mud sucking at his boots as he walked.

Mason sprang in front of him with his arms stretched out to his sides, as if Ed were some wild beast and his friend was in danger of being mauled.

"Get out of the way, Mason," Ed warned him.

"No," was Mason's only reply. He stood frozen on the spot, breathing hard. "If you want Leon you'll have to go through me."

"Don't be dramatic," Ed admonished him. He clapped his hands and ropes made out of thick black mud grew up out of the ground. They ensnared Mason's legs and snaked up around the deputy's body, pinning his arms to his sides.

Mason's horrified struggles were almost comical, but Ed was in no mood for a laugh. He stabbed an automail finger in the deputy's direction. "If you talk, I'll gag you." Ed said, and gave Mason the most intense stare that he was capable of.

Mason's jaw twitched and his nostrils flared but he kept his mouth shut.

Ed took a deep breath, then put his hands together one more time, though it was more of a pat than a clap.

"Sit down," he told Leon.

Leon looked panicked for a moment, as if wondering if Ed was asking him to sit in the mud, then he glanced down and saw the low, hard stool that Ed had fashioned for him through alchemy. It was growing up from the ground like a stump.

Leon sat, but he looked like he was resisting the urge to draw his knees up to his chest.

Ed dropped down onto an identical stool that he had furnished for himself.

"The watch," Ed demanded.

With a pleading look in his eyes Leon reluctantly reached a hand into his vest. He pulled out a silver timepiece, it was round and heavy and embossed on the front with the state seal, a shiny chain dripping through his fingers like rainwater. Ed retrieved his own pocket watch from inside his coat and held it side-by-side with Leon's. The two were identical.

Ed looked up. Leon's hand was still outstretched toward him, as if he was afraid of what Ed would do to his watch. Ed glared at him. "Stop looking so pathetic."

Leon sat up straighter, looking mildly offended.

Two letters had been inscribed on the back of Leon's watch. "E. G. F.," Ed read out loud.

"It belonged to an state alchemist named Elroy Foegle," Leon explained. A hint of pride crept into his voice, "the Shifting Earth Alchemist."

"Yeah? Did you steal this from him?"

"He was my uncle," Leon said defensively.

"Is that a 'no'?"

"I'm not a thief."

"Right, you're just a liar."

Leon hesitated, "I didn't…I didn't mean it. I didn't mean for things to turn out this way."

"Nobody ever does," Ed sighed. "So where is he, your uncle? Does he know what you've been up to?"

Leon dropped his gaze. "He's… not around anymore."

Oh.

"Let me guess, he died in the eastern rebellion," Ed said, not without sympathy.

Leon shook his head. "He never made it that far. He was stationed in the west, in the mountains."

Leon paused and Ed glared at him. "Does that story have a middle and an end too, or just a beginning?"

"The-the year he arrived there was a lot of flooding, and because of that, landslides," he began hesitantly. Ed gestured impatiently for him to continue. "A few villages got cut off from the main cities. The military didn't want to get involved, but my uncle and a few other men went without orders to try to help clear the roads. While they were working there was another avalanche, a big one, and they were all buried. The villagers tried to dig them out, but it took days. By then there was nothing they could do. One of the villagers knew my family. He brought my uncle's pocket watch back to my mother instead of returning it to the military."

Ed considered the pocket watch and the kid in front of him who was, in more than one way, closer to being a man than Ed was.

"I'm sorry for your loss," Ed said respectfully, "but it doesn't make the things that you did here right."

Things were quiet for a little while. Ed looked down at his muddy boots, which were slowly but surely being washed clean by the falling rain. He was surprised when Leon started talking again.

"I'm on your side, you know," he said.

"How's that?" Ed asked doubtfully.

"The first time I came here I was twelve years old. There was a military patrol passing through town. I guess they were returning to East City from somewhere. They looked tired, like they'd been traveling for a long time. They wanted to buy food and rent rooms for the night but the people here closed their shops and refused to serve them. Those men hadn't done anything wrong, but the people in this town still treated them like criminals."

Ed could sympathize. Ed remembered all too well how unpleasant it had felt to be kicked out of the inn in Youswell for his association with the military. He'd thought the villagers petty and cruel, until he discovered that the reason for their ire was well founded. It seemed that there were more places like Youswell than Ed had imagined, and a lot more people who would be more likely to hurt him than help him just because of the watch in his pocket.

"I know what the military did here," Leon said. His voice was quiet but passionate, "and I understand that it must have been awful, but the military itself isn't the problem. It's just an institution. It's like a weapon or a tool. The people who run it determine whether or not it's good or bad. There are good men in the military, people like my uncle who try to make a difference, who try to change the way things are, but if people don't give them a chance, what good can they do?"

Ed had almost forgotten that Mason was even there until he said quietly, "You never told me that your uncle was a state alchemist. You never said anything about the military at all."

"Would you have helped me if you knew what I was trying to do?" Leon asked.

Mason fell silent. He looked torn. Luckily for him Ed was willing to forget his earlier threat to gag the deputy if he spoke.

"So all of this was because you wanted to change the way this town acted toward the military?" Ed asked.

Leon shook his head, "I wanted to do something for this town, but I wanted to make a statement too. I wanted to open people's eyes and make them see how wrong they are, even if I had to break a few rules to do it."

"Well, you certainly sound like a college freshman," Ed muttered.

"Huh?"

"Nothing. Listen, you can't open anyone's mind with a crowbar," Ed told him wearily. "Believe me, I've tried. And you aren't going to get anyone to trust you by lying to them. If you want change, you have to make it happen from the inside."

"Is that why you became a state alchemist?"

"Not even close," Ed said bitterly. His hand traveled unconsciously to his right shoulder.

The subject matter was heavy and Ed felt like he was sinking under the weight of it.

"So did this uncle of yours teach you to do alchemy?" Ed asked.

"No, I learned it on my own."

"That's a relief. You're lousy at it, by the way."

"Thanks," Leon said in a flat voice.

"You're welcome."

"You know there's only so much you can learn out of a textbook," Leon sulked.

"Yeah, tell me about it," Ed said. Then he added thoughtfully, "Actually, the bridge was a decent piece of work," He admitted. "It was stupid and misguided, but decent. The other transmutations weren't horrible. They worked, after all. They just didn't work very well."

Ed sighed and stood up. Leon's eyes tracked his every move warily.

"Well, do you have money for a train ticket?" Ed asked.

Leon's defeated expression was replaced by one of confusion, "Um, yes…" he answered cautiously.

"Good." Ed tossed Leon's pocket watch at him. Leon barely got his hands up in time to snatch it out of the air before it smacked him in the face. "Take that to East City. You'll need it to get into military headquarters. Do you have a suit in that suitcase?"

Leon nodded, still frozen in shock. "It's a school uniform- "

"Good. Wear it. There's a man there named Mustang. He's a colonel. Tell him that Edward Elric sent you. Then give him the watch. Don't say anything else."

"Give him the watch?" Leon repeated. "You want me to turn myself in," he realized.

"To Mustang. No one else."

"He'll send me to the stockade!" Leon protested.

Ed shrugged. "He might. Depends on what kind of day he's having when you get there, and whether or not you decide to do anything stupid on the way or, you know" Ed waved his hand in the air "anything else stupid beyond what you've done already."

"He'll take my watch away," Leon said, clutching the trinket like a lifeline.

Ed gave a frustrated sigh. "Small price to pay considering that it never belonged to you in the first place."

"But I won't be able to help anyone without this watch. I probably won't even be able to perform transmutations!"

Ed shook his head. "Alchemy isn't a gift. It's a skill. Didn't they teach you anything at the university? The alchemy isn't in the watch. You have what it takes. It will take time, and a lot of studying, but if you want to help people without having to lie to them, then that's the way you need to do it."

"How do I know I can trust you? Or this Mustang guy?"

"You don't. You're just going to have to decide for yourself if the chance to do things officially is worth the risk of being locked up. You broke laws, Leon. You impersonated a state alchemist. Even if you did the wrong things for the right reason it's still wrong and you have a debt to work off. The cost to the state just to send me out here-" but Leon was starting to turn pale so Ed decided to spare him. "Let's just say I incur a lot of expenses when I travel. It will be up to Mustang to decide how you pay for your crimes. My advice to you is to be polite when you meet with him. Call him 'sir' a lot, or 'colonel'. He likes that."

"Aren't you coming with me?" Leon asked.

"Nah."

"But I'll be recognized at the train station."

"Then walk to East City!" Ed told him, exasperated. "Or…wear a hat or something. You've managed to stay practically invisible in a town of less than a thousand people for two weeks. How hard can it be for you to get on a train without being recognized?"

"Um…okay."

"Listen, go or don't go. You run and you'll be a fugitive. You go to East city and see the colonel and you get a chance to make things right and maybe, just maybe, you get to make a difference. Personally, I don't give a damn what you do."

With that, Ed turned his back on Leon Mueller. He put his hands together. The bars blocking the rogue alchemists' escape receded back into the stones from which he had created them. Ed waited until he heard the squelching sound of retreating footsteps, then he undid Mason's bindings as well. He even removed every speck of dirt from the deputy's uniform.

Mason stared at him, incredulous.

"Well, what are you waiting for? Go after him."

"I'm not going to stop him if that's what you think," Mason said. He was frowning, half defiant, half confused.

"Did I ask you to?"

Ed coughed into his hand. When he drew his palm away from his mouth he saw that it was bright red. He covered his surprise at the shear amount and wiped the evidence off on his red coat.

"I thought that you might want to follow your friend. You know, to make sure he doesn't run into any trouble."

Mason hesitated, probably wondering if this was a trick.

"You should go."

The deputy's body began to move, but his eyes stayed locked on Ed.

Ed broke eye contact, turned his head away to cough again, a deep, gagging spasm.

"Are you going to be alright?" Mason asked him.

"What the hell do you care?" Ed snapped. "If you're going then go already!"

Mason lingered a moment longer. "Thank you," he said. Then he broke into a run, and vanished around the corner of the nearest building.

Ed stood looking down the alley after him. All of the energy and tension from a few moments ago was gone, and with it, all the heat in the world seemed to have vanished as well. Ed yanked his hood over his head, then pulled his coat tight around his body, folded his arms protectively over his chest, and shivered.

The walk back to the sheriff's station seemed to take Ed a thousand years. He fully expected Mason Biggs, sporting a long white beard, to be waiting for him when he arrived.

The reality was so eerily similar to what Ed's had sarcastically imagined that it froze him in his tracks.

"Who are you?" Ed demanded of the elderly man who was sitting behind the sheriff's desk, wearing a deputy's uniform and badge.

The older man regarded him calmly, as if this was a question that people asked him every day. "Oh," he said, "so this is what you look like when you're awake."

Ed's memory dutifully, if belatedly, spat out a name. "Oh, right, Walter. Hello."

"Hello," Walter responded. "Say, did you know that you're dripping water all over the floor?"

"Oh, uh no." Ed realized that he must have forgotten to take off his coat. He wandered back into the coatroom, which he must have entered through but couldn't remember; he'd been so lost in thought.

Ed fumbled to get his arms out of the sleeves while Walter looked on, his thick fingers knitted together in his lap. "Well, did you get what you came here for?"

Ed thought about that as he stood there, holding his coat by the collar, arm poised in midair. "Yeah…well…yeah, I think so." After a few attempts he managed to hang his coat on one of the pegs.

"Good for you."

Ed decided that he liked Walter. There was something very soothing about the way he spoke and the way that he held himself, something wise and ancient.

The creases in Walter's forehead deepened as he watched Ed walk in front of the desk. "I think you should sit down," he suggested.

"I've been getting that a lot lately," Ed mentioned.

Walter gave him a thoughtful "hmmm," but didn't push the issue.

Ed glanced toward the stove, which was lit and radiating cheerful warmth. He noticed that there was a chair already positioned in front of the stove, like it had been waiting for him.

Oh. Well, that was nice.

Walter bent his head toward his work, licked the tip of his pencil and began to write. The soft scratching sound of pencil against paper was familiar and soothing.

Ed sat. He folded his arms around himself, either trying to keep his body heat in or trying to keep the rest of the world out. He wasn't sure which.

Even through the thick material of his clothes the stove quickly warmed his flesh and turned his automail limbs into glowing sources of heat themselves. Still, there seemed to be a block of ice at Ed's core that the fire couldn't touch. He shivered and coughed and hugged himself tighter until Walter got up from the sheriff's desk and brought him a blanket from one of the cells.

"Good time for a nap," Walter suggested, inclining his head towards the cells with a conspiratorial wink.

Ed stared dumbly at the blanket for a moment before he could remember how to use it. He unfolded it and wrapped it clumsily around his shoulders.

"No thanks. I want to wait for Al."

"He's your kid brother, right?" Walter asked, scooting the sheriff's chair around the front of the desk. He sat down with a heavy sigh, the kind that Ed associated with older, heavyset men. He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, fingers interlaced in front of him.

"Yeah."

"Seems like a good kid."

"He is."

"Awfully nice of the military to post you two to the same assignment. Don't they usually try to keep family members apart?"

"Huh? Oh, I don't know. It doesn't- um, Al's not military."

Walter's bushy eyebrows climbed toward his hairline. "Oh. Really? Well, the way he talks about you I can tell that he's very proud of his older brother. Seems like he wants to follow in your footsteps."

It occurred to Ed that he should be bothered by Walter's questions, or at least try to avoid answering anything too directly, but Ed was so tired and there was something so disarming and kind about the old man that Ed relaxed his defenses.

"I don't want him to," Ed said firmly. Then he realized how cruel he must sound, like he didn't want his brother around. He corrected himself, "I mean that I don't want him to join the military. One dog in the family is enough."

"You don't like working for the military?"

Ed didn't have to think hard about that answer at all. "I hate it."

Walter leaned forward, brows drawn together. There was a question in his kind blue eyes, and Ed answered it before he could ask. He told Walter how Colonel Mustang had recruited him into the military. It was something that he rarely talked about, because it led to questions about his family and his automail and a hundred other questions to which no one needed to know the answers.

When Ed was finished answering Walter's questions about the military he found himself still speaking, as if he'd lost the ability to stop. The floodgates had been opened and the pressure under which Ed's words had been kept was too great now for them to be shut. Ed watched himself from the sidelines, aware of what was happening but powerless to do anything.

Ed answered questions that he'd never been asked. He answered questions that he wished he'd been asked, and questions that people had asked years ago. He talked at length about things he'd kept bottled up inside. He talked as if by speaking he could purge himself of every rotten, sinful thing he'd ever done. He talked until his voice gave out, until he began coughing. With every cough a sharp pain lanced through his chest, but still he kept coughing. He coughed and he watched the crease between Walter's eyebrows grow deeper and deeper.

There came a breaking point, and Walter pulled him to his feet. With one hand on Ed's left bicep and the other on the back of Ed's neck the deputy guided him to one of the cells and sat him down on a bunk. As soon as he was down Ed collapsed onto his side, too spent to care what he looked like, too miserable to put on a strong front.

Walter manipulated his limbs into a more comfortable position and stacked thin pillows under his head. When he'd done all he could he left for a moment, and Ed could hear him talking to someone on the other end of a phone line, but he couldn't make out the words over the thick noise of his breath wheezing in and out of him.

When Walter was finished with his phone call he ambled back into the cell. He seemed relaxed and his movements were unhurried, matter-of-fact even as he knelt by Ed's side. He said, "Doc's going to come and have a look at you," and he might as well have been talking about a broken faucet or a loose floor board, like Ed was a tool or a piece of furniture, easily damaged and easily fixed. Well, he reflected, it was partially true.

"You want to tell me a little more about this place you grew up? Resembool?"

Ed drew breath to speak, but the words got lost on the way to his mouth. Before too long he forgot what the question had been.

Walter patted him on the leg. "S'okay," and then began to talk to him in a low, steady voice. The words rose and fell in the familiar cadence of a bedtime story, and even though they washed over Ed instead of sticking in his memory he felt comforted by the sound of the old man's voice.

Ed didn't remember falling asleep but he woke to a stranger in a white coat bending over him.

"Easy," Walter said, because Ed had immediately sucked in a surprised breath, which started him coughing again. "Ed, this is doctor Nikola."

The doctor helped him sit up. Then he pressed a cold circled against the skin of Ed's back and asked him to breath deep. The doctor might as well have asked him to spin his head completely around. It was all Ed could do to get enough air between coughs.

Next Ed found his forehead cradled in a big, warm palm. Ed loathed the idea of strangers putting their hands on him, but the doctor's touch was clinical and detached, unemotional, so Ed relaxed into it.

"Okay," the doctor said, like he'd come to some kind of big, important conclusion. Ed felt the deep rumble of that one word in his chest, like an earthquake.

Then the doctor scooped him up off the bunk like he weighed nothing at all, like his automail was aluminum and his bones were feathers. The room spun. Ed closed his eyes. He thought that the doctor might be taking him upstairs but he soon felt cold raindrops, sharp as needles, falling on his face. Ed opened his eyes and followed the blinding white sky as it swayed out of sight, lost above the eaves of the bathhouse.

The doctor's boots thudded heavily on the wooden floor. Ed felt the vibration through his entire body.

"We need a tub," Ed heard Walter say, followed by a shout and chorus of hurried footsteps. Ed thought he picked out Samantha's voice somewhere in the din, but he couldn't see her so he couldn't be sure he hadn't imagined it.

Ed tried to keep track of what was happening around him but his mind and body didn't seem to belong to him anymore. He felt the doctor set down on a bench. Although he had stopped moving Ed still felt the room swinging sickeningly around him. He dropped his head between his legs, barely aware that there were two people on either side of him, holding him upright, and a basin between his feet on the floor. Ed would have happily stayed that way for hours, but someone gave a signal that Ed couldn't read and suddenly the hands that had been holding him were tugging at his limbs, undressing him. They removed his boots and socks. They took his shirt next, then his leather trousers, leaving him only his shorts and tank top. Ed was overcome by a strange, paralyzing anxiety about his metal limbs. He thought if they saw them they would _know_ and his heart began to race. He tried to pull away but his limbs were heavy, like he was moving underwater, or moving through a dream.

Ed heard voices, male and female, and someone who sounded like Al. He wanted to call out to his brother. He wanted to ask what was happening but he couldn't speak, just like in so many of his dreams.

The doctor picked Ed up and carried him to a waiting bathtub. He lowered Ed gently in.

Ed found his voice.

He started to scream.

Hot! Too hot! They were burning him!

Ed kicked and thrashed, the desperate flailing of a dying animal, fueled by primeval energy. He felt automail connect with flesh.

"Don't let him put his hands together!"

That was Al's voice. Ed hadn't realized that was what he was trying to do until his brother said so.

"Al!" he shouted, his voice a ragged mess "Help! Don't let them do this! Al!"

But Al's big leather gauntlets were the ones holding him in the bath and keeping his right palm from making contact with his left. Hot tears of betrayal leaked down Ed's cheeks and the fight drained out of him. What Ed thought at first was boiling water was actually freezing cold. The boiling heat was inside of him.

Ed looked up helplessly at Al's expressionless helmet and realized that he had no idea what his brother was thinking. For perhaps the first time he was struck by Al's menacing appearance, this nightmarish form that Ed had trapped him in. Ed was frightened by it, and frightened also by the ring of strange faces surrounding him. Ed made feeble attempts to escape the tub and their scrutinizing glares. A dozen hands moved to stop him. He sank back, confused and helpless. Someone placed a washcloth on his head and he didn't have the energy to shake it off.

"Help me, Al," he begged through chattering teeth.

"I am helping you, brother," Al told him.

There were swirls of red-orange in the water. Ed's lips and tongue tasted like copper.

_No, _Ed thought,_ you're drowning me._

He couldn't breathe. Even though his head was out of the water, they were drowning him.

To be continued...


	11. Chapter 11

PART 11

On some level Ed was aware of what was happening around him. He heard voices that he recognized. He could feel heat and cold, could tell day from night, could feel hands on him when they wanted him to move, could feel hunger and thirst, but all of these things seemed distant, as if they were happening to someone else. All of Ed's energy was focused inward, because no matter what time of day it was, or whether he was awake or asleep, Ed could not seem to get enough air to breathe. His skin felt too hot and too tight. His lungs throbbed, deep, stabbing, energy-sapping pain with every breath he drew. When he had the strength, he tossed and turned. When he didn't he lay limp and panting on a strange mattress in a foreign room, helpless. Sometimes the doctor or someone else would force a mask over his face, stealing more of his breath and turning what remained to hot ash in his scorching lungs.

Monsters found Ed in his sleep, big hulking shadow-beasts, formless and faceless. They followed him into the waking world, swaying and looming, grabbing and pinching. Ed fought them. He squirmed and struggled. He hit, and though his blows didn't have their usual strength, they did connect. There were loud noises and yelling. Strong hands pinned his wrists. When those hands grew tired of holding him Ed felt his limbs being bound. When he found the strength to wriggle free and all other options had been exhausted Ed felt the telltale click and snap of his automail coming undone from the port.

"No!" he shrieked. "No. Please…"

"I'm sorry. It's for the best, Brother."

They took his arm.

They took his arm and Al helped them, muttering to him the whole time, soothing words meant to comfort.

Trembling, Ed clumsily wiped away his tears with his remaining hand. He tried to be still and quiet. He tried to cooperate with them so that Al wouldn't take his leg too. But if it came to that Ed promised himself that he wouldn't argue, he wouldn't struggle. For how Ed had cursed Al to live as an unfeeling suit of armor his little brother had every right to take him apart a piece at a time, every right in the world.

"It'll be okay, Brother."

"You can have it, Al. You can have everything. Just don't leave."

If Al accepted his offer, Ed never heard his reply.

Ed dreamed, and his dreams were black and frightening. They opened his soul and tore him apart, limb from limb. When they were finished they put him back together and spat him out, sweat-drenched and gasping only to repeat the process the next time that sleep claimed him.

As horrifying as Ed's nightmares were they had no form or substance. They were air and shadows, and left no imprint on Ed's memory, only feelings of terror and disgust as proof that they had ever happened. Then they slipped away from him like water through his fingers. There was only one dream that Ed could recall, and it was more memory than imagination:

He dreamed that he was seven years old and living in Resembool, and in his dream he and Al were racing each other along the river, laughing and stumbling over tufts of grass on the uneven ground. Ed's legs were still an inch or so longer than Al's, plus he had all of the practice and experience that came with being a whole year older than his brother, so Ed could easily outpace him in a footrace.

"Wait, Brother!" Al called. "Don't leave me!"

But Ed pushed forward. His lungs burned with the exertion, his legs eating up the ground with long, jarring strides. Still he found the breath to laugh, until he'd gotten so far ahead of his brother that he couldn't hear Al's voice over the rushing sound of the river.

Finally Ed slowed, then he stopped, but his lungs continued to burn.

"Al?" he called, turning. But Al was nowhere in sight.

Ed scanned his surroundings, but everything around him was water and grass and more water. But there, floating in river's swift current, caught in an eddy and spinning like a top: a brown thing. A stick? No. A slipper. It was Al's sandal.

"Al!" Ed cried, dashing into the rushing water. "Al! Where are you? Al!"

Ed tried to swim but the water was too fast, the current too strong. The river sucked him under, swallowed him like it had swallowed Al. Their mother had always warned them never to play too close to the river, never to swim where their feet couldn't touch the bottom because the river was dangerous and could carry them away. At first Ed had had a difficult time believing that something that looked so peaceful could kill them.

Then the river claimed him, and Ed believed.

The river closed over his head. It battered his body. It forced the air from his lungs. It showed him how small and weak he was, how ineffectual his struggles. He could thrash and he could kick but the river would continue to do what it always had: it would flow, mighty and swift. Fighting against it was useless. He would only use up his air more quickly, and the river would kill him faster.

Blackness closed in on him from all sides, reducing his vision to a pinprick of light.

Some part of Ed was aware that the river was only part of a dream, something that his memory had conjured. It was long ago and far away, not capable of reaching him where he was now, but Ed's struggles were real. The pain in his lungs, the crushing weight on his chest, those were real, and they were really going to kill him. He was dying, and there didn't seem to be anything that he could do to stop it from happening. As with the river, this was too powerful to struggle against. Ed was helpless in the face of it.

Ed did the only thing he could in this situation. He surrendered. He stopped struggling, let his limbs go slack, and allowed the current to carry him where it would. He let the river do what it wanted, because it was going to anyway, and eventually what it wanted was to let him go.

Battered and weak and miles from home, Ed pulled himself out of the water and lay gasping and shivering on the shore. He ached from head to toe, and the sharp, sun-warmed rocks on the bank were digging into the tender skin on his back. But he was alive. He'd given in to the river and the river had spared him.

And Al… Al had never fallen into the river. Al was safe on the shore, waiting for Ed, wearing both of his sandals and calling Ed's name.

As long as he was safe, Ed could let go.

Inside of Ed's dream the river rose, creeping around his still form. Water seeped underneath him until the current buoyed him once again.

The water rose and it carried him away. Now that Ed knew the rules of the game, he let it happen and eventually…eventually he came out on the other side…

* * *

Ed woke up in stages.

He was in a room, and the room was dark except for the moonlight spilling in from an open window. The room, the walls and the furniture all seemed familiar, though he could barely see in the dim light. He felt as if he'd been here for some time. Even though he didn't know where "here" was, it didn't matter. Ed had a list of priorities in his head that had been ingrained since childhood. Family came before anything else.

"Al?" Ed whispered through cracked lips.

A dark shape approached and leaned over him. "Do you need something, Brother?"

Relief flooded through him.

Ed shook his head, "No."

Then he closed his eyes and slept.

When Ed woke again it was bright out, and the white room and everything in it was awash in yellow light.

Al was sitting in the corner, a dark spot in a light room. Ed turned his head to look at him. Every movement was exhausting.

"Can I have my arm back?" Ed asked him.

It seemed to Ed as if he'd asked this question before, but he couldn't remember if it had been a dream or not.

Al rose and came to stand over him. His big hands fussed gently with the blankets covering Ed's legs. The blankets were white, like everything else.

For a moment Ed was frightened of Al, frightened of his brother, of the shape that Ed had chosen for him in a moment of pain and desperation, the tower of armor leaning over him.

"But Brother, you have your arm back," Al told him.

Ed looked down at the mass of wires and steel lying on the sheet next to him. It seemed alien, a piece of machinery, not an arm. Ed wondered if he looked as lost and confused as he felt.

"Please, Al, can I have my arm back?"

Al was silent for a moment, and then his shoulders sank. The hope in his voice turned to despair, "Just rest, Ed. We'll get your arm back."

"Thanks, Al."

Ed closed his eyes and did as his brother told him.

He rested.

The next time Ed woke it was because he was being jostled like a piece of furniture. He realized that he was no longer lying in bed. He was hovering several feet away, cradled in Al's arms while a woman in a long skirt and an apron stripped the bed and replaced the linens with military efficiency.

"Your fever broke," Al told him before he could ask. There was a giddy, almost hysterical edge to his voice, and it unnerved Ed to think that he was the cause. "You sweated through your sheets and they needed to be changed. We're still in Rhuel. We're at Doctor Nikola's clinic. He's been taking care of you. It wasn't the flu after all. He said that you had pneumonia… Brother?"

Ed stared up at his brother's helmet with glassy eyes, too tired to lift his head, too overwhelmed by this glut of new information to process it. He could hear the words, but he couldn't seem to attach any meaning to them.

"Brother?" Al insisted, and gave him a little shake.

"Tired, Al," Ed mumbled.

"Nonono, Brother you can't sleep yet," Al insisted. "You need to drink something. Please, just some broth. We could hardly get you to eat or drink while you were sick. You need eat to get your strength back."

"Sure," Ed agreed, not because he agreed with what Al was saying but because it seemed to be the answer that Al was looking for.

Following through on his promise was much more difficult than agreeing in the first place. Between the time that the nurse finished making up the bed and the time it took Al to settle him onto it Ed had slipped into a semi-conscious state, kept awake only by his own refusal to shut his eyes.

While Ed was in this state of half-wakefulness Al built up a mound of pillows behind him to keep him sitting upright. The nurse brought a shallow bowl filled with a clear amber broth. The smell put Ed in mind of Granny Pinako's stew. The fact that it didn't taste anything like it filled him with a startling amount of disappointment.

After the first few spoonfuls Ed was feeling awake enough to be appropriately horrified that his brother was spoon-feeding him broth and he turned away from Al's next advance.

"Brother, you have to eat," Al insisted in a weary and worried voice. "Please."

"I can do it myself."

There was a surprised pause and then Al handed Ed the spoon. After some initial spillage Ed found his rhythm. Once the broth had cooled Ed took the bowl and drained it dry. When the last drop was gone he sighed in disappointment.

The meager meal seemed to have awakened Ed's appetite but he knew that it would take more energy than he had to ask for seconds.

Ed passed the bowl back to Alphonse, who set it on a metal tray near his elbow.

"How do you feel?" Al asked him.

"Tired. Hungry." Ed felt his eyes start to slip closed again, but he forced them open. His head was filling with questions. "How long?" he asked, hoping that he didn't have to be more specific than that.

"Almost a week," Al said solemnly.

"A week," Ed repeated, unable to digest the meaning of it.

"You were very sick."

Ed sank back onto the sheets. Al's words were starting to spark thoughts in his head.

"Al?"

"Yes, Brother?"

"Are you mad at me?"

Al straightened. "Of course I'm not mad at you. Why would you think that?"

Ed stared up at the inhuman mask that was his brother's face. He remembered a frantic thrashing of limbs, cold water, hot skin, a confused jumble of faces, and yelling.

_Don't let him put his hands together! _

Translating all of this into words was too much effort.

"What is it, Brother?"

"Nothing. I'm sorry."

Ed closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them Al was watching him silently.

There was something gnawing at Ed, a horrible, nagging feeling that there was something he should be asking. He was sure that there were a lot of things he should be asking about. But no, it was something about the town. Ed tried to make his sluggish brain work for him. He ran through his list of recent memories, hazy as they were.

Then, like a bubble floating to the surface, "Al, the river…"

"Hm? It's fine, Brother. They let me fix it."

"They let you fix it," Ed repeated, trying to grasp the meaning of what Al was telling him.

"Mm hmm. All of the houses are safe and the river is back where it used to be. I told you all about it when I came back to the sheriff's office."

Ed stared at him blankly. "I don't remember."

That must have been the wrong thing to say. Al seemed to sink into himself, but then he shook off his gloom and rallied, "That's okay. You were already pretty sick by then. I should have realized you wouldn't remember."

"What happened?" Ed coaxed.

"Oh, the sheriff and Mr. Frisk stood up for me at the town meeting. So did Mrs. Bosch and the Clebolds. The town voted. It was close, but they let me try to use alchemy to fix the bridge and the river."

There had to be more to it than that. Al was keeping his story short on purpose, maybe because he was afraid that he would wear Ed out, maybe because he knew that there were parts of the story that Ed wouldn't like, probably it was a mix of both.

Ed remembered a group of sour old men on the riverbank with their measuring tools, stabbing at him and Al with their accusing fingers from a safe distance.

"I bet the engineers weren't happy," Ed said. He bet a lot of people weren't happy, and he knew he was right when Al ignored the probe.

"What about you, Brother?" Al asked. "What happened with Leon Mueller? Mason told me that you… you let him go."

Ed turned his head away. He couldn't tell if Al's voice was filled with disappointment or relief or…pride.

"If you're too tired to talk, it's okay," Al said solicitously. "I just thought you'd like to tell me your side."

"Not really in the mood," Ed said. He could feel a darkness growing inside of him. The memory of his confrontation with Leon Mueller was coming back to him, hazy and confusing, but undeniably real. On a whim he'd set a criminal loose. He said he didn't care, but he did. He wasn't mad at Leon for being that criminal or at Mason for making his capture difficult. He was mad at himself. He almost felt like he'd been conned, except he'd done the conning and he'd done it to himself. Ed was regretting his actions because Leon could have gone anywhere once Ed released him. Ed was almost certain he hadn't turned himself in to Mustang. It would take a special kind of idiot to willingly march into East headquarters and hand himself over to the Flame Alchemist. No, Leon Mueller was gone and Ed had failed his mission. Mustang was going to have a field day with this.

"Brother?" Al asked.

"I just want to sleep now," Ed said, knowing that it would be impossible with this new guilt eating away at his insides.

"Oh…okay."

Ed curled up on his side, replaying in his mind the events that had led to the capture and subsequent release the rogue alchemist. As he thought about everything that had happened since he and Al had arrived in Rhuel another horrifying possibility occurred to him.

"Al, did anyone else get sick?" Ed asked. He didn't like the anxiousness in his voice but he couldn't help it. "The sheriff? Mason? Walter?"

"What? No, I don't think so," Al said uncertainly.

"When was the last time you saw them?"

"Ed, calm down. Doctor Nikola has had you quarantined since we brought you here. He hasn't said anything about anyone else being sick and no one else has visited the clinic."

"Are you sure? They might be quarantined at home. What about the little girl? The one we saw at the Clebold's?" he asked. A name swam up from his memory, "Lucy? What about her?"

"Lucy's fine, Brother."

"How can you be sure? If you've been here with me this whole time how do you know?" Ed sat up, rising physically as his voice was rose in pitch and intensity. He reached the end of his sentence and his voice gave out. He started coughing. His throat was raw, not ready for this much use so early in his recovery.

"Brother, please stop!" Al pleaded with him, using both of his hands to press Ed's shoulders back. "Lucy is fine. Everyone is fine, just like you're going to be…" Al trailed off, turning his helmet away.

"Al?" Ed asked softly.

A suit of armor couldn't cry, but the hollow, choked sounds that were coming from Ed's little brother were unmistakably sobs.

"Hey…it's okay," Ed whispered hoarsely. He tugged weakly on Al's shoulder with his automail arm. "I believe you. Don't cry, okay? Please?"

But Al just curled forward and sobbed harder.

Ed was fighting back tears of his own. "Stop. Please stop," Ed begged, but there wasn't a single thing that Ed could say or do to make him, and in the end, Ed felt like crying himself.

To be continued...


	12. Chapter 12

PART 12

Ed owed a debt of gratitude (and, he was sure, a financial debt as well) to the efforts of Doctor Mark Nikola and his small clinic staff for taking care of him during his illness.

Doctor Nikola was a tall, severe man with gray hair and shoulders so broad that they strained the fabric of the white lab coat that he wore over his shirtsleeves. The doctor had examined Ed in the sheriff's office and carried him to the bathhouse, but at the time Ed hadn't been in any kind of shape to appreciate the shear… magnitude of the man. The doctor was so tall in fact that the hair on his head brushed the top of the door frame when he entered Ed's room, and it occurred to Ed that Al's armor might have been built with this type of man in mind.

When Doctor Nikola smiled it seemed to lessen his physical intimidation…somewhat, but his smiles were only brief flashes between frowns and he spoke so seriously that Ed felt compelled to answer his questions with a "yes sir" or a "no sir".

Once Ed was lucid enough to understand what Al and the doctor were saying to him they didn't waste any time laying the blame for the severity of Ed's illness right at his feet. The doctor lectured him on the topics of proper rest and nutrition and _listening to medical advice in the first place _so that an incident like this wouldn't repeat itself. Al made it clear how worried he had been through his overly attentive hovering punctuated by stoic silences and sudden outbursts like "You could have had brain damage _or worse!_" Ed didn't have to ask what _or worse_ meant. He felt like he'd been knocking on Death's door and that he'd only caught a break because apparently no one had been home.

When Ed began to show signs of improvement Doctor Nikola made him submit to a full physical examination, which Ed suspected was less for the purpose of information gathering and more for the purpose of humbling him.

"Deep breath," the doctor instructed him. His hand was warm but the stethoscope pressed against Ed's back was ice-cold. The thought of complaining never crossed Ed's mind.

Ed breathed obediently, and coughed, and kept coughing until the doctor finished his examination and looped his stethoscope around his neck. He pressed a cloth close to Ed's mouth. "Cough it up," he encouraged.

With difficulty Ed kept coughing until he spat a translucent wad of mucus onto the crisp, white piece of fabric that the doctor was holding.

"No blood," the doctor said, folding up the cloth. Ed wasn't sure how he felt about someone showing interest in his phlegm, but then someone had to have been overseeing Ed's bodily functions for the past week and this was probably by far the least embarrassing thing that Ed had produced.

"He's still coughing a lot," Al pointed out. "And he's very weak."

_Thanks_, Ed thought as he sagged back, spent just by sitting up for the length of the doctor's examination.

"Coughing is good," the doctor explained. He wasn't the type of man who volunteered information, which meant that Al had to drag it out of him, usually by asking questions that Ed found mortifying. "He's getting rid of the fluid in his lungs. The infection is clearing up."

"When can I leave?" Ed asked, once he had the breath to speak.

Doctor Nikola raised an eyebrow at his patient. He took his time answering, which was his way of reminding Ed whose clinic this was, and who was in charge. "Is there any place in particular that you need to be?"

"I need… to report in," Ed answered weakly. He felt like he was wilting under the doctor's gaze.

"Hmm. Major, is it? All state alchemists hold the rank of at least a major if I'm not mistaken."

Ed nodded. So did Al, even though Doctor Nikola seemed pretty sure of himself.

"You are not cleared for duty, not yet. Any military doctor would tell you the same thing."

Ed stared at him. "Yes sir."

Ed saw a flicker of reaction in the doctor's eyes, and it looked suspiciously like offense.

"I'm going to have the nurses start you on solid foods, but you still need fluids. I want you to drink everything that the nurses bring you. Understand?"

Ed nodded again. So did Al.

Doctor Nikola made his way to the door, where he turned and said, "Get some rest, Major." Then he left and shut the door quietly behind him.

When he'd been gone a few moments Al turned to him and said, with a note of tentative enthusiasm, "Did you hear that, Brother? The medicine is working. You're getting better. That's great news."

"Yeah…great," Ed replied in a flat, dead voice.

"What's wrong?"

Oh, nothing. Leon Mueller. Failed mission. Being sick as a dog (and a military dog at that) in a strange place. Barbarian doctor. Angry town folk, possibly carrying pitchforks. The usual.

Ed rolled his head to the side, away from Al. "I just…want to get out of this place."

The last time Ed had needed 'round the clock care had been when he'd lost his arm and leg. Back then he and Al had stayed with the Rockbells while Ed recovered and adjusted to his new automail limbs. But that was different. Granny and Winry were as close to family as he and Al had. Here in Rhuel Ed was a stranger, and an unwelcome stranger because of his association with the military. Ed didn't like the idea of seeming helpless in front of people he didn't know well enough to trust.

"Are you sulking?"

Ed didn't answer. In the strained silence he could feel Al's concern growing.

"If something else is wrong you should tell me what it is."

As if Al hadn't spoke, "If I pay the doctor's fee maybe I can convince him to transfer me to a hospital in East City," Ed wondered out loud.

"Brother, don't talk like that. You're not even well enough to be out of bed yet."

"Boys?"

Ed hadn't even heard the door open. Al sat up straighter. Ed could tell that he hadn't noticed either.

Gloria, the day nurse had her hand on the doorframe. She was a straight-laced type, young and sort of plain, but very professional, just the type of person that Ed supposed the doctor would have chosen to work with. Ed couldn't tell how much of their conversation she'd overheard but Ed was sure there was no way she could have missed that last part. She didn't show it.

"The doctor said you were well enough for visitors. There's someone here to see you."

"Oh, okay," Ed consented.

Gloria turned and addressed someone in the hall. "Just a few minutes, okay?"

He supposed that their visitor consented to her terms because Gloria left the room and a young woman stepped inside.

Ed took several beats to place her face. "Samantha," he said.

Samantha's smile wavered when she laid eyes on Ed. There wasn't a mirror in Ed's room so he could only guess what she was seeing.

"Oh! Samantha," Al came to his feet with a metallic clatter. "You work at the bathhouse, right?"

Samantha seemed grateful for the distraction. "Yes, and you're Ed's brother…Al?" she guessed. "Sorry. Things were a little hectic when we met. We didn't get a chance to talk much."

"No, that's alright," Al said enthusiastically. He turned to Ed and explained, "When your fever was very high the doctor brought you to the bathhouse."

"I remember that," Ed said vaguely, although he kind of wished that he didn't. Ed's memories from the days that he had been very feverish were watery and nightmarish.

"If she hadn't acted so quickly you might have died."

"Don't thank me," Samantha said, saving Ed the trouble of faking his gratitude, "I'm sure the experience wasn't very pleasant for you."

"It's in the past," Ed told her. The heat in his cheeks had nothing to do with his earlier anger at Doctor Nikola. "Besides, if what Al says is true then you saved my life, and Al doesn't lie."

Samantha shook her head, "I'm not the hero here. You two are… I'm sorry. I don't mean to embarrass you, but I just wanted to thank you."

"We didn't do anything special," Ed sighed, eyes on the coverlet. "Thank Al if you want but I think that I caused more problems than I solved."

Now it was Samantha's turn to look embarrassed. "No… Edward, I don't think you understand." She paused. "Al, could I speak to your brother alone, please?"

Al glanced at Ed. "It's okay. You could probably use a break from me," Ed told him, wondering at the same time if Al had been away from his side at all during Ed's illness. Ed couldn't remember, and the possibility that he really hadn't left Ed's side left him with a list of questions that he was too tired to think about.

When they were alone Samantha took a step closer to Ed's bed. "How are you feeling?"

"Better, I guess."

"That's good. Your brother cares about you a lot. You're very lucky."

"Is that what you wanted to talk about?" Ed asked bluntly. He couldn't take his frustration out on the doctor and Samantha was the next available target. Maybe it wasn't fair to her but he didn't care.

Samantha's demeanor changed. She dropped the guise of the shy, mild-mannered bathhouse girl, which Ed supposed had been more for Al's benefit than for his.

"I suppose I'd better get to the point before the nurse kicks me out. Gloria's an old friend from school but she's not going to cut me any slack just because she knows me." Samantha settled herself on the chair that Al had abandoned. "I did come to thank you, but I also came to apologize."

"What for?"

Her face was open and innocent. "I was the one hiding Leon Mueller for Mason."

Ed's expression turned stone cold. "Why?" he demanded.

Samantha shrugged mildly. "Mason is a very good friend. I've known him his entire life. I used to baby sit him after his mom passed away. There wasn't any reason for me not to trust him." She was smiling at him softly, as if this should have come as no surprise to Ed, and he supposed she was right.

Ed looked down. "I see… so you knew who I was from the minute you saw me."

"After we found out what Leon was up to Mason said that there might be people who came looking for him. When you arrived he told me what you looked like," she explained.

"So you knew our names and faces before I came to the bathhouse the first time."

"Yes."

"If you were working against us then why did you help me?"

"It wasn't a conspiracy, Edward. I think you're a good person and you were only doing what you thought was right, but so was Mason and so was I."

Ed let his anger speak for him. "I could still arrest you, you know. I could bring you up of charges of aiding and abetting a criminal."

Samantha regarded him for a moment, and the look in her eyes made Ed wonder if she'd even heard him. Then she leaned confidently over the bed and cupped Ed's cheek in her palm. "No, you couldn't, because you let him go too." And she kissed him on the forehead. "Thank you, Edward. You did the right thing."

Samantha didn't sit back down. She moved toward the foot of the bed. "When you're feeling better you should stop by the bathhouse. I'll take good care of you."

Shame kept Ed nailed to the mattress. "You're wrong, you know," he said. "I didn't do the right thing by letting Leon Mueller go. It was a mistake, and it could cost me a lot more than just my career." If he and Al lost the military's support it could cost him the ability to get his and Al's bodies back to normal. But there was no way he could tell her that, no way that he could make her understand how expensive Leon Mueller's freedom might turn out to be.

As yet no one at Eastern Command knew what Ed had done for Leon Mueller, unless of course Mustang had spies in Rhuel (Ed wouldn't put it past the man). If word got back to the colonel about what he'd done, there was a chance he'd be facing a court-martial once he returned to East City. As things stood Ed was pretty sure he'd committed worse offenses than this, but he never quite knew which straw would break the camel's back.

"Maybe you're not sure about what you did, but I am. You'll see. Your instincts about Leon were right."

"Instincts? No, I was just too tired to deal with the guy."

Samantha looked at Ed like she felt sorry for him. "You should learn to be a little more trusting."

"Thanks for the advice, but I can't afford to put my trust in the wrong people, not right now."

Samantha looked at him for a long moment. Then she nodded like she understood. "Okay, Edward. I think that's sad, but okay."

She turned to leave.

"Samantha?"

Samantha paused at the door, her tiny handbag swinging on her arm.

"Yes?"

"Are you still curious?" Ed asked, looking at his automail hand where it was laying on the crisp white hospital sheets.

"No," she replied, "I'm not." And Ed could tell that she meant it.

She left, and Ed sank into the mattress.

"Oh, and Edward?" Samantha said, poking her head back into the room. "You were wrong about one thing: I never knew your name until you came to the bathhouse."

The image of her grinning face stayed with Ed for several minutes after she had left, and Ed's own face was so red that when Gloria came back in she checked Ed's temperature as a precaution.

* * *

Samantha was Ed's first visitor, but once word got out that Ed was on the mend more familiar faces began to appear at the clinic, mostly people whose houses he and Al had repaired. Ed wanted to turn them away at the door or pretend to be sleeping but Al's face lit up like a Christmas tree whenever he heard voices in the hall. Ed didn't have the heart to disappoint him, especially when Zelda arrived with a basket of cinnamon rolls to share with the clinic's staff. And that wasn't the only gift they received. Mrs. Bosch brought tangy green apples from her garden and the Clebolds brought Lucy, who wasn't interested in Ed's recovery so much as she was interested in using Al as a jungle gym.

Doctor Nikola and his small staff tried to keep the visits to a minimum. They explained to the well-meaning townspeople that it was important not to wear his patient out at this stage in his recovery. But if anything the extra company made Ed chafe against the doctor's orders and turned the itch to be free of scratchy sheets and medicine and bland food into a burning desire. After the Clebolds' visit Ed began testing the waters, seeing how Al would feel about ignoring the doctor's timeline and departing Rhuel ahead of schedule.

"No."

Ed frowned at his brother. "What do you mean 'no'?"

"I don't care what you want. We're not leaving, not until Doctor Nikola says you can leave. You're going to stay here and you're going to get better."

"C'mon Al…" He knew that he sounded like a spoiled brat, whining because he couldn't have his way, but he didn't care. He tried a different angle. "We've wasted so much time here when we could have been looking for the philosopher's stone. Who knows what clues we might be missing out on while I'm stuck here in this bed!"

"We'll never know. But what we do know is that if you push yourself too hard your recovery will just take longer. You're still coughing and you had a temperature again last night. I think it's because you were up so much yesterday."

"I felt better…" Ed excused himself.

"If you feel so much better, then why don't you get up and walk around the room?"

Ed sat up. The room spun. He lay back down. "I'll did it earlier when you weren't looking."

"Brother, you're staying here until you're better. I'm not asking you. I'm telling you. You're going to do this as a favor to me. Promise me that you'll do whatever the doctor says."

"Fine, I promise."

"Even if he tells you that you have to stay in bed for another week? Or even a month?"

Ed's mouth fell open, "Wait- "

"Even if that's what he says you need to do. Promise me you'll do it."

Ed hesitated.

Al pleaded with his soul-fire eyes.

"I'm going to have trouble keeping that promise," Ed mumbled.

"Then I'll help you."

"Ed?" a soft voice said. It was Carmen, the night nurse, who had just come on shift. She was an older woman with gray hair and a nurturing disposition. Of the three people who worked at the clinic Carmen was the only person whose presence seemed to calm rather than irritate Ed. Ed couldn't understand the reason for this until he found out that Carmen was married to Walter, and the two of them shared the same disposition. Carmen was a good nurse. She did her job and made sure that Ed he ate and slept and took his medicine, but somehow she made everything seem like a good idea. Ed never felt the need to argue with her. "There's someone here to see you, dear."

Al glanced at Ed, who shrugged listlessly.

Al looked apologetically back up at Carmen. "Can you tell them to come back tomorrow? I don't think that he's up for any more visitors today."

"I understand. I wouldn't have asked except that he says that he came all the way from Central."

This time Ed did sit up, and he didn't care that the room was spinning. "Who is it?"

Carmen glanced backward into the hall and a dark-haired man wearing glasses and a loud tropical shirt stepped past her.

"Lieu- " Al started to say. Then Maes' Hughes made a small signal with his hand and Al corrected himself, "Mr. Hughes. What are you doing here?"

"Well, I was on my way to East city on business when I heard that my wife's favorite nephew was sick and I just had to stop by! How are you feeling?"

"Uh, okay," Ed said. Wife's nephew, huh? So that was the cover that Hughes had used to get past the doctor. Ed knew that no one here liked the military but maybe Hughes was going a bit far.

"Good to hear!" Hughes said, grinning and wagging a finger enthusiastically. "And I've brought just the thing to cheer you up and help get you back on your feet!"

Ed felt as if the world was moving in slow motion as Hughes reached into his shirt pocket and brought out his trump card, a picture of his two-year-old daughter Elicia, her hair done up in pigtails, hugging a baby lamb.

"Isn't she adorable?" Hughes gushed, glancing back at Carmen. "Gracia and I took her to the fair last month and I captured every precious moment on film!"

"She's very cute, Mr. Hughes," Carmen told him with a polite smile. It was immediately clear to Ed that Hughes had talked at length to her on this subject, just like he did to everyone that he met. But unlike everyone in Central, Hughes hadn't bored her to tears yet. On the one hand Ed felt glad that Maes Hughes had found a new audience. On the other, he felt extremely sorry for himself because he knew Carmen wasn't going to be sticking around. Sure enough, she reminded Hughes to go easy on Ed and quietly excused herself from the room. Hughes appeared not to notice as he bombarded Ed and Al with a stack of photographs, all featuring his daughter squeezing the life out so some poor fuzzy barnyard critter with her tiny arms.

When the door was shut firmly behind her, Hughes seemed to forget the pictures that he'd spread all over the bed and nightstand. All of the images of Elicia lay forgotten and Hughes turned a serious searching eye on Ed. "How are you really doing?" he asked in a low voice.

Ed looked down at his arms, lying on top of the sheets. The automail limb was the same as it had always been, but his left arm was pale skin over bone and stringy muscle. It looked like it belonged to someone else. Illness had eaten away at Ed's muscles and burned through what little fat he had to spare. He felt weak and pathetic. His body was struggling to support the weight of his automail. Doctor Nikola had said that the arm and leg had complicated his illness and had predicted that they would also hamper his recovery. The doctor had even suggested removing the limbs for a while. They simply took too much strength and energy to maintain, and those were things that Ed didn't have at the moment. Not to mention that Ed was still growing (no matter what anyone else said). It might take him weeks to recover and even then it would be months until he regained his full strength.

Ed considered downplaying his illness to Hughes but thought better of it. Hughes was a top investigator for the military and would see right through it, so Ed settled on evasion, "I'll be better once I get out of this place."

"What happened?" Hughes pressed, and Ed got the impression that he was about to find himself on the wrong end of another scolding.

Ed took a deep breath and launched into his explanation, "The colonel sent us to Rhuel to find someone who was impersonating a state alchemist- "

Hughes held up a hand, palm facing Ed. "Stop right there. I'm not interested in the case. You can save that for the colonel. What happened to _you_?"

"Oh," Ed said. Despite the mistakes he'd made on this mission it would have been easier to talk about the rogue alchemist than answer questions about himself. He decided to keep it simple. "I had a cold when I left East City. It… got worse." E looked guiltily up at Al. "I made it worse."

"He had pneumonia," Al simplified.

"But I'm over it now."

"He hasn't completely recovered," Al corrected.

"I'm much better, though," Ed said through gritted teeth.

Al looked directly at him and said, "He's still very weak."

Ed heaved a long-suffering sigh, knowing that he deserved the torture that Al was putting him through.

Hughes looked back and forth between the two of them, like he was watching a tennis match, and it was pretty clear which of them he thought had the better argument.

"Pneumonia," Hughes said gravely. "You're lucky, Ed. People die from that, you know."

"I know," Al said, deathly serious. His pronouncement effectively halted the flow of conversation for a few moments and drove home the grim reality of Ed's illness.

"Lieutenant Colonel, what are you doing all the way out here? You didn't come just to see us, did you?" Ed asked, trying to take the conversation in another direction.

Ed couldn't see Hughes' eyes for the reflection on his glasses, but his usual smile was gone and his jaw was tense. In contrast, he kept the tone of his voice light and casual, "Well, I'd like to tell you that I was just in the area and felt like dropping by. The truth is that I was overdue for a visit to East City anyway. Roy asked me to stop and check in on you, find out when you were going to be back on your feet."

Ed felt his face turn red at the mention of Roy Mustang, but only half of his anger was directed at the colonel, the other half was for Ed himself.

"That bastard," Ed muttered through gritted teeth. "I bet he's got some pain-in-the-ass assignment to punish me for screwing this one up. Well, the doctor hasn't even told me when he's going to let me out of this white-walled prison, so you can just tell him that I'll get there when I get there. Another thing, if he wanted a status update so badly why didn't he march his lazy ass down here and get it? It's not like he doesn't have the time."

Under normal circumstances Ed would have continued his rant until everyone in the hospital knew his grievances against the colonel, but Ed was still in pretty poor shape and had to pause, wheezing, after only a few sentences. When he did, Hughes was able to get a few words in edgewise.

"Ed," Hughes said smoothly, "Calm down and let me explain something to you."

"I'm calm!" Ed snapped.

Hughes and Al exchanged a look that Ed didn't like at all.

Hughes leaned forward and lowered his voice. "Ed, I'm sure you've noticed by now that the people in this town aren't exactly big fans of the military."

Ed glanced down at Hughes' loud civilian shirt. "Tell me about it."

"Well, with that being said, Roy started to get a little anxious when the two of you failed to check in. He called the sheriff to see what your status was and that's when he found out that you were in the hospital."

"I'm sorry," Al spoke up. "I talked to the lieutenant the night that Ed started to get so sick but I never called after that. I should have checked back with the colonel but I didn't want to worry anyone."

"Al," Ed said gently, hearing how upset his brother sounded. "It's not your job to keep the Bastard up to date on everything we do."

Ed turned to Hughes, "Sorry, Lieutenant Colonel. I know you two are friends."

Hughes laughed, "That's alright. Roy's been called much worse names than that. Actually Roy is the one who feels like he dropped the ball. He called the sheriff and tried to figure out why you hadn't returned to East City. That's when he found out that you were in the hospital."

"So he talked to the doctor?"

"Not exactly. The doctor wasn't happy to hear from a colonel, so he hung up on him and refused to take anymore of his calls."

Ed stared, mouth slightly open, shocked that anyone, even that polar bear of a doctor would have the guts to hang up on the colonel.

"So the colonel decided to come to Rhuel and see for himself what was going on."

Ed could feel the color draining from his face. "He was here?"

"Yes he was," Hughes assured him.

"I don't remember…" Ed said slowly, glancing up at Al.

"I didn't see him, either," Al said.

"That's because the doctor wouldn't let him past the front door."

Hughes' visit made much more sense now. So did his shirt, and his insistence that they not say his rank in front of the nurses.

Ed pictured the colonel standing in the rain out in front of the clinic, soaked to the bone. To his surprise that image didn't bring him any sort of satisfaction. It reminded him of Leon Mueller's story about the military patrol that he'd seen passing through Rhuel, trying to find food and lodgings only to be turned out by everyone that they met.

"But he's my superior officer…" Ed protested.

Hughes pushed his glasses up and shrugged. "That would have meant something if you'd ended up at the military hospital at headquarters, but you didn't. You ended up here."

"The sheriff didn't try to help?" Al asked.

"Speaking from a legal perspective, there wasn't anything he could do. This may be a military state but the military doesn't control everything. There are a lot of people in the private sector who have fought very hard to keep it that way. Without a piece of paper naming him as your legal guardian, all the brass in the world wasn't going to allow Colonel Mustang to put so much as a toe inside this clinic, legally speaking."

Ed was mortified. Although he'd suggested earlier that the colonel come to Rhuel himself he hadn't actually considered the possibility that the colonel would do just that. "I bet he's pretty angry."

"That's a fair assumption."

"What should I do?"

"Well, you can start by giving him a call, but I'd wait until you're feeling up to it." The fact that Hughes didn't deny that Mustang was furious with him didn't exactly infuse Ed with confidence. "I'm headed to East City tonight. I'll let him know that you're still among the living."

"Lieutenant Colonel, I'm sorry that you had to come all the way out here for no reason."

"I wouldn't say 'no reason'. I got a chance to see you boys. It's just too bad you're not feeling better. I'd ask you to show me around. This looks like an interesting place."

"It's always interesting around festival time, at least that's what we hear," Ed reflected Hughes' smile weakly. "Thank you, sir. I promise we'll come visit you and Gracia in Central when we have the chance… that is if the colonel doesn't have me running errands all over the country for the rest of my career."

Hughes shook his head dismissively. "I wouldn't worry too much about Roy if I were you."

"That's easy for you to say. You'll be all the way in Central. You won't be able to hear the yelling… probably."

Hughes laughed. "Well, I always try to keep a safe distance from things that might explode."

Hughes steered the conversation in a lighter direction after that. He talked about the goings-on in Central and the latest news and political gossip, but somehow almost always ended up on the subject of his daughter or his wife. Despite Hughes' assurances Ed's thoughts kept drifting back to the colonel. He couldn't help imagining what would happen when he returned to East City to face Colonel Mustang's wrath. After a while Ed found it increasingly difficult to follow the conversation, let alone participate, and the harder he tried to keep his eyes open, the quieter Al's and Hughes' voices became.

"Ed?" someone whispered.

"Is he asleep?"

"Yeah… I think so."

"He really looks like he's been through the wringer. Are the two of you okay here? Are they treating you alright? Is there anything that you need? Food? Books? Anything?"

"Please, Mr. Hughes, don't trouble yourself. We have everything that we need. Everyone has been so kind, really."

A warm chuckle, "The nurses speak pretty highly of you, you know. Everyone I've talked to is so protective of you two. Careful, because I think they might want to keep you."

"Brother would never let that happen."

"Of course not. Still, it's good to know that someone is looking out for you."

Al sighed. "Brother takes so much looking-after sometimes."

"Even the colonel can't watch his back for him all the time, no matter how hard he tries."

There was more to the conversation, but it might have been in Xingese for all Ed knew. The words were only buzzing in his ears. Even that faded away completely as sleep took him and for the first time in recent memory Ed didn't dream about water. He dreamt about fire.

To be continued...


	13. Chapter 13

PART 13

Hughes was gone and morning had arrived by the time Ed opened his eyes. Ed had slept through the lieutenant colonel's departure. That alone was enough to upset him on a fundamental level. Besides, Hughes' visit had awakened a restless feeling in Ed. Just by being there he had reminded Ed about his obligations to the state and to the colonel, two things he'd been trying hard not to dwell on until now.

Ed was silent during breakfast. He was hungry but the food didn't taste right, so he set it aside after a few bites. He was bored but he couldn't concentrate on any of the books that Al had brought. He itched, but all of the squirming and fussing with the sheets and pillows did nothing to soothe him because the itch was in his head and under his skin.

When Gloria came to collect his breakfast dishes and take his temperature he demanded, "When can I get out of this place?"

Ed knew how ungrateful he must sound but his illness and days of lying around on his back had made him so physically miserable that he didn't care.

"If you have enough energy to complain, then hopefully not much longer. We'll see what the doctor says. He should be in to see you a little later." She aimed a stern finger at him like it was a weapon. "Don't push it, though."

She and Ed had spent enough time together now that she didn't need to get specific.

At that moment Ed felt no need to push it.

Gloria gathered up Ed's breakfast tray with a closed-mouth smile.

"Thank you," Al chimed in.

"Of course, dear," she said. Her smile widened, became genuine, and Ed felt an absurd pang of jealousy.

Al waited until Gloria had closed the door and her footsteps had receded down the hall before pinning Ed with a stare. "That wasn't very nice, brother."

Ed opened his mouth to argue. Then he rethought his strategy. He'd been on edge all morning, irritable and rude, and he knew from Al's comment that he'd finally succeeded in dragging his little brother to the brink with him.

Ed forced his features to relax. "I'm sorry," he mumbled. "I know that everyone is being nice. I'm just... I don't know… sick of being in one place."

Al's expression softened, if such a thing was possible.

Ed continued, "I'm tired of sitting around doing nothing. I'm tired of reading. I'm tired of the food. I'm tired of being tired."

"You hardly ate any of your breakfast. You need to eat to get your strength back." Al brightened. "Would you like me to go to the bakery and get you one of Zelda's cinnamon rolls? You liked those, didn't you?"

Ed let a slow smile spread across his face, like the sun coming up, "Yeah, that sounds great. Thanks."

Al eagerly got to his feet. Ed's clothes, including the small purse containing a disorganized wad of paper money, were hung in a tall, narrow wardrobe in the corner of the room. Al fished around for change small enough to cover Ed's midmorning snack, even though they both knew that Zelda would most likely refuse Al's attempts to pay.

"Is there anything else that you need while I'm out?"

"Come to think of it… hey, is there a pen around?"

Al listened and nodded as Ed dictated a list of raw materials, writing them on a sheet of notebook paper. "What are we going to do with all of these?"

Al couldn't have been more pleased when Ed revealed his plan to transmute gifts for Carmen and Gloria.

"Just small things, you know? Something to say 'thanks for putting up with me'," Ed explained.

Al beamed proudly at his brother. Ed felt his cheeks grow hot.

Al left happy. "I'll be back soon, brother," he said, waving to Ed over his shoulder. The feather attached to his helmet flowed along behind him as he hurried to begin his errand. Al's enthusiasm had Ed a little concerned because his brother tended to forget his size and strength when he got excited about something.

Ed held his smile for several moments after Al had gone, just in case his brother forgot something and had to turn around. When he could no longer hear his brother's clanking footsteps the corners of Ed's mouth turned down, forming a hard, determined expression.

Ed took a deep, steadying breath and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He had to sit for a moment, gathering his strength before he could go any further. Once he was on his feet Ed felt a sense of triumph. It was only a short walk to the phone in the hall, in fact he could see it when the door to his room was left open, but that would be the furthest that Ed had been from his bed in days.

The muscles attached to Ed's automail had atrophied to the point that his balance was affected. He remembered this feeling. This was how it had felt when his automail was first attached. His left leg dragged and his right arm weighed down his upper body, made his spine bend and his posture slump. Ed had to force himself to stand up straight, and when he did he felt an answering burn in his underused muscles that signaled the start of his recovery. It would take a lot of work to get his body back into shape, but it wouldn't be nearly as bad as the first time, not even close.

With a slow, rolling, lopsided gait Ed maneuvered himself cautiously toward the door to his room. He looked right, then left, checking for signs of life. No one was around and the only sound he could hear was the ticking of the clock in the hall.

He crossed quickly to the phone and lifted the receiver.

Ed took one more deep breath and dialed the number to Colonel Mustang's office phone. He surprised himself that he could do it from memory.

Ed hoped that that Mustang would let the phone ring for a while, or maybe not answer at all. Then he could tell Hughes that he'd called and still be able to walk away with his hearing intact, for a while anyway. He should have known he wasn't that lucky. The colonel picked up on the first ring.

"Mustang."

Ed had to clear his throat before speaking, but that didn't do much to improve his voice, "Colonel?"

"Yes, who is this?" Mustang asked impatiently. If there was one thing that Ed knew Mustang hated, it was idle chitchat, be it over the phone or in person. Ed was amazed that Mustang and Hughes could even tolerate being in the same room with one another, let alone get along well enough to be friends.

"Colonel Mustang, sir," Ed said nervously, thrown off by the awkward way that this conversation was beginning. "It's me, Edward Elric, uh, reporting in."

There was a moment of silence, and Ed thought that he'd lost the connection. Then, "Fullmetal," Mustang said, making Ed's title more of an announcement than a greeting.

The ambient noise of a working military office, which Ed hadn't noticed until then, abruptly ceased. Ed got the distinct impression that Mustang's end of the conversation was the focus of the room's attention. He wished the hallway floor would just open up and swallow him.

"Well?" Mustang prompted him when Ed didn't speak.

"Well what?" Ed asked, belatedly adding, "sir."

"I assume you're calling to let me know when you'll be returning to active duty."

Ed's shoulders slumped. So much for him getting a little sympathy out of the colonel. Hughes was a dirty liar. Mustang didn't give a damn about Ed outside of how useful he could be in helping the colonel achieve his own ends. Despite that Ed immediately began thinking ahead to when and how he could convince the doctor that he was well enough to be released. That was going to be a challenge considering that the walk across the hall to the phone had left him a little winded and dizzy. As badly as he wanted to get on a train and put as much distance between himself and this place as possible even Ed had to admit that it just wasn't in the cards right now.

"I don't…have an answer for you right now."

"I see. Is that all?"

Jeez, was he _bothering_ the man? Mustang made it sound as if Ed had become ill for the sole purpose of inconveniencing him.

"Yeah. I'm sorry."

Mustang was silent for a moment. Maybe the apology had caught him off guard.

"It might interest you to know that I had a visitor last week, a young man. I believe you know him. Apparently his uncle did some work for the state years ago." Mustang put subtle emphasis on the words 'work' and 'state'. "He expressed interest in following in the man's footsteps. We had a nice, long talk."

"Leon?" Ed asked, stunned.

Mustang made an affirmative noise.

"Where is he?" Ed tried to keep his sentences short. His throat felt dry. He wasn't sure if that was because he was talking to Mustang or because he was thirsty. Either way he didn't want to start coughing. If he did he wouldn't be able to stop.

"I have an old friend who needed some help with his landscaping," Mustang told him.

Ed was pretty sure that was Mustang's enigmatic way of saying that he'd set Leon up with an apprenticeship. Either that or he had Leon working under heavy guard in a quarry somewhere. Either way the rogue alchemist and his future were out of Ed's hands and Ed was both glad and relieved because of it.

Ed drew a breath to thank him, but he breathed too deeply and what came out instead of gratitude was a coughing fit so violent that it folded Ed in half. Ed cradled the receiver against his chest and buried the lower half of his face in his elbow. When he finally had enough air to breathe and the ringing in his ears had died down Ed found himself on his knees, still gripped the receiver like a lifeline. He could hear Mustang's muffled voice on the other end of the line, saying "Fullmetal? Edward?"

Ed swallowed and brought the handset to his ear.

"Gotta go," he gasped out.

"Fullmetal!" he heard Mustang protest as he groped blindly behind him, trying to replace the receiver.

Ed was still sitting there when Gloria found him. He must have looked pretty pathetic, because she didn't even bother to scold him. Instead she dropped down to his level, brushed back his bangs and put a cool hand on his forehead.

"Did have a good conversation?" she asked, tilting her head to peer at him.

Ed didn't see the point of trying to lie about what he'd been doing in the hall, even if she hadn't exactly caught him in the act. "No."

Gloria sighed. "Where is Al?"

"He went to get something to eat."

Patiently, she took his flesh hand and helped him up off of the floor. Then, like she was talking to a slow child she said, "Ed, everyone here knows that Al doesn't eat."

Ed's eyes opened wide and he felt a familiar moment of panic. "He's, um…" he started to say, trying to fabricate an excuse, but just looking in her eyes he knew it was no good. She _knew_. He should have realized sooner that it was impossible to keep secrets from people who watched him twenty-four hours a day.

"Edward," Gloria told him in a sincere voice. "It's okay. It'll be okay. Understand?"

Ed looked her in the eyes for a long moment, trying to decide if he could trust her, if he could trust any of them.

He nodded helplessly.

"Are you ready to go back to bed?"

Another nod, then he stood on his own and walked back to his room. Gloria followed a pace behind, not touching him, but close enough to be there for him if he needed help.

* * *

Ed had hoped to keep his little excursion secret from Al, but from the moment his brother returned from his errand Al could tell that something had happened while he was gone. Ed didn't have the heart to keep the truth from him.

"I called Colonel Mustang."

"Oh," Al said. Clearly that was not what he had expected. He glanced at the phone in the hall and back to Ed, who was still a little shaky from the activity. Al looked like he wanted to chastise Ed for getting out of bed, but at the same time he seemed pleased that Ed had been thoughtful enough to call the colonel. He asked, "What did he say?"

Ed shrugged. "Not much. We didn't talk for long."

"Oh," Al repeated. He seemed disappointed. "Was he busy?"

"I guess." How the hell should Ed know? And why would he care?

Al was still looking at him expectantly so Ed decided to throw him a bone. "Oh, I guess Leon turned himself in after all."

"Really? That's great! See, I knew that everything would work out in the end. You just have to have a little faith, brother."

"Yeah." Ed looked down.

Ed felt the end of the bed sink under the weight of Al's armor.

"What's the matter?"

Ed paused. His sickness had brought his emotions so close to the surface, made him transparent as a pane of glass. He couldn't believe how deeply Mustang's few words had hurt him. Any other day he would have been annoyed, even angry, but instead he felt tired, low, defeated. He wanted to pull his sheets over his head and sleep. Ed couldn't tell Al that. Instead he said, "The staff here, I think they know… about your armor."

"Oh," Al said, looking down, playing with the corner of the blanket. "I know. I didn't tell you because I thought you would be upset. I didn't want you to have to worry. I'm sorry."

"It's okay," Ed assured him. "Kind of a tough secret to keep from people when they're around us all the time."

Ed could have sworn that Al's helmet blushed.

"What?"

"Don't be upset, brother. I'm sure they would have figured it out anyway, but… " Al sighed. "You told them… when you were sick."

"I did?" Ed asked, dumbfounded.

"You kept talking and talking," Al rushed to explain. "I've never heard you talk so much. I hoped that they would think it was just the fever, but like you said, it's hard to hide the truth from people who are around you all of the time."

Ed took a moment to digest what Al was telling him.

"So, the doctor knows? And the nurses?"

Al confirmed Ed's suspicions with a nod.

"Does anyone else know?"

"Walter and the sheriff. Mason. Samantha."

"Okay," Ed said.

"Okay?"

"Well, if they were going to turn us in, they probably would have done it by now. I'll buy their silence if I have to."

"You don't think…? They wouldn't, would they?" Al asked.

"I don't know, Al. I hope you're right about these people."

The gravity of their situation seemed to hit Al all at once and his shoulders slumped forward. Ed felt a pang of guilt. He tried to lighten the mood, "Don't worry. It's my fault. I'll make it right, whatever it takes."

Empowered by Ed's words, Al straightened up and said, "I don't think they'd tell anyone. I really don't."

"I hope you're right, Al." Ed wasn't convinced, but Al didn't need to know that. He changed the subject, "Did you get everything?"

"Oh," Al glanced down. There were two sacks on the floor near his feet, forgotten until now. He hunched over and began pulling things out, "Everything but zinc, but I'm pretty sure we can find a workaround… "

Alchemy was a fantastic distraction. Ed and Al spent the rest of the afternoon in companionable near-silence, working together to make small tokens of appreciation for the nurses and, at Al's suggestion, Samantha and Zelda. It felt just like the old days, when he and Al used to work at making trinkets to impress their mother, trading ideas, building on each others successes learning from each others failures. Ed tried not to see the gifts as bribes, knowing what he knew now. He'd save the real bribery for later, but for the moment there wasn't much he could do, so Ed lost himself in the purity of destruction and creation, of science, and as long as he thought of nothing else, he was happy.

* * *

"Two days," Doctor Nikola said.

"Two days?" Ed asked as he watched the doctor write his pronouncement, or perhaps some completely unrelated note, onto a clipboard containing Ed's chart.

The doctor looked up at him and raised his eyebrows. "The infection in your lungs has cleared up. In two days I think you will be well enough to travel."

Ed stared, open-mouthed. Until now the doctor had given him no idea about when, if ever, he planned on releasing Ed from the clinic. All of Ed's pleading and complaining had, until this moment, fallen on deaf ears.

The doctor continued, "I want you to take at least a week off before you return to active duty. Try not to exert yourself too much or spend long periods of time outside. Follow my instructions and it's likely that you'll make a full recovery, but right now your lungs are weak. If you suffer a relapse you could still have lasting damage."

Ed blanched at the word "weak", but before he could think of a retort Al said, "He'll do exactly what you say. Won't you, brother?"

"Sure," Ed said, remembering the promise he had made to his little brother.

"Drink plenty of fluids, get your rest and try to avoid things that could irritate your lungs, like open fires and cigarette smoke. If you have any symptoms: headache, fever, a cough or chills, I want you to stop what you're doing and see a doctor. Understood?"

"Understood," Al answered for him, and Ed thought that the doctor's words were more for Al than for Ed anyway.

"Any questions, Major?" the doctor asked.

Ed scowled and looked to the side. As much as he hated to admit it, he was a little intimidated by the man, not by his physical size so much as the way that he looked at Ed, like he could see right through him. Ed bet that the doc thought he had him all figured out. "No. No questions, and don't call me 'Major'."

Doctor Nikola cocked his head to the side as if he were a little surprised by Ed's reaction. It was the kind of interest that a man might show an animal that has done something unexpected but inconsequential.

"It sounds like you're making fun of me," Ed explained.

"I am not mocking you, Edward," the doctor assured him. "I was in the military myself years ago. Old habits die hard, I suppose."

"You were… " Ed began, realizing that he had mistaken respect for mockery. "I see. We might know some of the same people. Did you serve during the Ishvalan uprising?"

"That was after my time," the doctor said. "And even if I had still been serving then, I wouldn't have seen that conflict."

"Because you're a doctor?" but Ed knew as soon as he said it that he was wrong. Winry's parents had been doctors and they had served in Ishval, had _died_ in Ishval.

"Because I did not serve in the Amestrian military."

That's when things began to fall into place and Ed understood the man's actions. What he had taken for mockery was actually respect, and the doctor's manners were not Amestrian. His accent did not sound foreign to Ed's ears, his pattern of speech was a little strange, almost rude in its bluntness, but that was how Drachmen spoke to one another.

"In my home country military service is compulsive for all able-bodied men over the age of eighteen. It was… a good experience. I learned many lessons that I still remember to this day. Respect- " he made steady eye-contact with Ed- "was important. After my service ended the government helped pay for my education. It was a very good trade."

"What made you come here?" Ed asked, not really considering whether or not the doctor might find the question rude or intrusive.

Doctor Nikola answered frankly, "Some things were happening in my homeland that were not so good. I could not change them, so I left."

Ed hadn't realized until then that such a major experience in a man's life could be boiled down to so few words.

"Don't you miss your home?" Al asked.

"This is my home," the doctor explained. "As for where I came from, it lives in here," he placed two fingers on his chest, over his heart.

"Will you ever go back?" Ed wasn't sure who asked the question, him or Al.

"No. I want to remember it as it was."

The doctor's words made Ed think of his mother. He would remember her as a smiling chestnut-haired woman in an apron, beautiful and warm and perfect. But even that memory was stained with blood, because when he thought of his mother he would also remember a black, twisted corpse writhing in agony on a basement floor.

Ed's chest ached.

"So you see, Edward," the doctor continued, bringing Ed back to the present, "I am not mocking you. I do find it strange, however, that a boy your age would be allowed to serve in the army. I don't believe that you are old enough to understand the consequences of your actions."

"I understand enough," Ed assured him.

"Because of your limbs and your brother, you understand?" the doctor asked him doubtfully. "No. You're selfish," he concluded.

"Maybe I am," Ed admitted. "But for right now we need the military. We're using them and they're using us. It's a fair trade, like the one you got in exchange for your service. The only difference is that our circumstances are a little more urgent than yours. We don't have time to sit around and philosophize about how the world should be. This is how it is."

The doctor set his clipboard on Ed's bedside table. He leaned in towards Ed in a way that was almost threatening. Ed fought the urge to scoot back.

"You are a skilled alchemist. I can see that, and valuable to the military no doubt. It is in their best interest to keep you alive, isn't it?"

When it was clear that he was waiting for a reply, Ed nodded. "For now I guess."

"Then do me a favor Edward Elric, and obey my instructions. Take care of yourself. Stay alive long enough to see that I'm right."

On his own Ed didn't think that he could do what the doctor was asking, but fortunately for him he had Al there to watch his back.

To be continued...


	14. Chapter 14

PART 14

Before the doctor's pronouncement Ed had known only that he was stuck in this backwater clinic in this backwater town for an indefinite period of time. Now that Ed knew the date of his release he had a timeline for his return to East City, at which point he would have to face Mustang and somehow explain what had happened here. Worse than that, the doctor wanted him on "light duty", and how was he supposed to explain that to the colonel? More importantly, how was he supposed to explain it without the colonel giving him a tremendous amount of shit and then sticking him behind a desk with a stack of paperwork that the smug bastard was too "busy" to do himself. Ed settled on _not_ explaining it and just returning to duty and playing it by ear, but Al took that particular decision out of his hands.

"I spoke to the colonel."

Ed had been half way through the smallest set of sit-ups he'd ever done in his life when Al's shadow fell over him. From this position Al appeared to be looming. Al never loomed. And were his soulfire eyes glowing red in his helmet or was that just Ed's imagination?

"Oh," Ed said, dropping back down, his energy suddenly gone. He could feel every one of his vertebrae pressing against the floorboards. "You called him? Was there yelling?"

Al paused, almost like he was confused. "He was very upset that you never called him back."

"Yeah, well, good thing it's not my job to keep Mustang happy," Ed muttered. "So what did he say? Does he want a written report or does he just want me to explain in person how I screwed up?"

Al cocked his head to the side. "Leon turned himself in. The bridge is fixed, and so are all of the houses that were damaged. What exactly do you think you screwed up?"

"Well, getting myself stuck in a place like this for starters, and I didn't exactly make life easy for the sheriff and his son. I doubt that they'll want us anywhere near this town again. Don't tell me you didn't notice that they were the only ones who never came to visit."

"You're being paranoid, brother. The sheriff isn't mad at us. He probably thinks that you're mad at him because of what Mason did. And I don't think the colonel was worried about any of that."

"Oh yeah, what did he want?"

"He just wanted to know when we were coming back. I told him what the doctor said about your lungs. He's going to make an appointment for you with the company physician."

"Great."

"He was worried about you."

Ed felt something snap inside his chest. He sat straight up. "Oh, give me a break, Al! He doesn't care what happens to us. Unless I'm out on the road fixing his problems or working his agenda I'm useless. That's all he cares about!" He was breathing hard, close to coughing and close to tears.

He looked away.

Ed expected Al to recoil from his display of temper, but Al stood his ground. "Brother…" Al said softly, "That's not true. He cares a lot about us."

"He's sure got a funny way of showing it."

"What's the matter?"

Ed took a deep, shaky and tried to collect himself. His voice sounded wet and his nose felt swollen, as if it were stuffed with cotton. "It's nothing."

"Brother- "

Breathing was hard. Talking was harder. In clipped tones Ed spat, "Leave me alone, Al!" Then softer, "Please, just leave me alone."

Al heaved a hollow sigh. He said, "The colonel said he had something important to discuss with you. He said to call if we were going to be late."

Ed's chest felt tight. "Fine. You can go now."

"If that's what you want…."

Al left, shutting the door quietly behind him.

Ed gave up on sit-ups. He'd lost count anyway.

* * *

The first day that Ed had been allowed outside for more than ten minutes at a time was the day that he and Al left Rhuel.

As a gift, Samantha had all of Ed's clothes cleaned and pressed the night before and delivered to the hospital in crisp paper packages tied with hemp string. She'd bleached his gloves to a startling white that made them look brand new. Even Ed's boots had been polished to a parade-worthy shine that would pass inspection by even the most meticulous sergeant.

Fully dressed for the first time in weeks Ed wasn't used to the weight of fabric and leather. He felt small and hot, but he was grateful for his layers when he stepped outside and a cool spring breeze lifted the hood of his coat and caused the hem to flap around his knees.

Ed flattened his hood with one hand. The other was wrapped around the handle of his suitcase. Al wanted to carry it for him but Ed had talked him out of it. He was getting stronger after all, and he assured Al that if he got tired he would hand it over. Ed had done a lot of fast-talking to get himself where he was now.

Ed's attempts to settle his bill with Doctor Nikola had been met with some resistance. The doctor had immediately guessed the reason for the inordinately large quantity of bills in the envelope that Ed had given him.

"You can keep your hush money, Major," the Doctor had said. "I don't see the advantage of telling anyone your secret. It would earn me nothing and it would get you imprisoned. I think you'll do more good as a free man with money in his pocket."

The doctor's use of his title still grated on Ed. "It's not hush money," he had said. "Think of it as a little piece of what the military owes you and the rest of Rhuel."

"That is silliness. You can't give back the past."

Ed had thought hard, the envelope sitting heavy in his outstretched hand, and he'd be damned if he was going to take it back.

"It won't do you any good to spill our secret, but can you say for certain that everyone in this town feels the same way?"

After a long pause the doctor had admitted that he didn't, "That I don't know. I can only speak for myself and for those I know well, like the sheriff. Not many people know the extent of your situation. Hopefully it will stay that way."

"Do you honestly think it will?"

"Hard to say. People talk, even if they don't mean to, and word gets around."

"Then use the money to keep our secret."

The doctor had given him a pitying look. "Once you start paying people to do things they should be doing anyway, you can never stop. I'll take my fee and nothing else. Go back to your military, Edward Elric. Even if it is the Amestrian military I am sure that there are many things you can learn there."

So Ed left the clinic, thinner and paler than when he'd entered, but with the contents of his wallet nearly intact. He also left the clinic with a small stack of letters that had been sent to him from the townspeople during his convalescence and a bottle of Mrs Bosch's homemade "cold remedy". Ed had fought hard to suppress a shudder when he saw it. "It's a thank you gift for the colonel," she'd said with a wink. Then she'd wagged a finger at them. "Don't go drinking it yourselves!"

"Wouldn't dream of it," Ed had assured her.

Although he left the bottle untouched at the bottom of his suitcase Ed had opened a few of the letters out of morbid curiosity. He had been expecting the worst, but so far had found only words of gratitude. Embarrassed by the sentiments of virtual strangers Ed had left the rest of the envelopes sealed. It had been his intention to leave them behind when he packed, but Al had bundled them together into a neat package and tied it with a piece of string, like a gift, with Elicia Hughes' picture on top. "You can read them on the train, brother," Al had said, and Ed had snorted at the idea, but stuffed the package into his coat pocket anyway.

Ed and Al had sentiments of their own to deliver, and by the time Ed was ready to leave he and Al had already presented the nurses with their gifts: a picture frame for Carmen, who would be welcoming a new grandchild in the summer, and a set of crystal-studded combs for Gloria, who liked to wear her hair in a fancy up-swept styles and elaborate buns and twists. Ed had a better eye for detail but both of the gifts had really been Al's idea, as had the delicate white teacups and matching saucers that they had given to Samantha.

"How do you know that she likes tea?" Ed had asked when Al had suggested them.

As if it were obvious, Al said, "Because she told me."

Now only one present remained. It was small enough for Ed to hold in his closed fist, but he had instead fashioned a tiny yellow box for it by alchemically reshaping a few sheets of writing paper. He carried it in his pocket until he and Al reached the bakery, and then he gave it to his brother, knowing that Al wanted to be the one to present Zelda with her gift.

"Edward! Alphonse!" she greeted them, her voice chiming happily like the bells above the door.

Zelda came out from behind the counter, dusting her hands on her apron. She doted on Ed, commenting on how much better he looked until Ed was scratching the back of his head in embarrassment.

She noticed Ed's suitcase, "Are you leaving already?" she asked downheartedly.

"Yeah, 'fraid so. People are waiting on me."

"That's too bad. I wish you could have stayed longer," she said to Ed, but she was looking at Al.

Ed gave his brother a slight nudge with his automail elbow.

Al ducked his helmet shyly. "Oh, um, we brought you something."

"Really?" she asked, genuinely surprised.

Al's leather gauntlets dwarfed the tiny box. Ed thought of a delicate flower growing in the shadow of a boulder, always in danger of being crushed. But his brother was the boulder and that would never, ever happen.

Zelda plucked the gift from Al's hands and lifted the lid off with tiny white fingers.

Dangling from her fingers, a long silver chain on which hung a sparkling pendant, a delicately shaped swirl whose grooves were filled with flecks of amber. To Ed it seemed evocative of an alchemical array, only more sinuous, more feminine. It also reminded him of the shapes in the night sky that he'd once seen through a telescope at the observatory in Central, but he knew that the real inspiration had much simpler, more innocent roots. Al had fashioned this piece himself, his own fanciful take on a cinnamon roll.

"It's beautiful," she cooed, admiring the pendant with her big eyes.

She was sweet as candy, this girl, so sweet Ed's teeth hurt, but as much as he wanted to he couldn't hate her, not when she made Al so happy.

Al and Zelda talked for a few minutes, until Ed started to feel restless and bored. Al picked up on his mood fairly easily, just like Ed knew he would, but when Al stepped outside, Ed lingered behind, not wanting Al to hear what he was going to say.

Zelda read his actions and stepped closer, lowering her voice. She was perceptive, just like Al. "What is it, Edward?"

"Zelda, you're friends with Mason, right?"

She blushed. "Yes, I guess that's right."

"Can you tell him… never mind. I think he gets it."

Zelda seemed to accept Ed's conclusion. "He is pretty smart."

"Yeah. No. Tell him that I'm sorry for the trouble, okay?"

"Alright. I don't think he thought of it that way, though. He's… " She seemed to have trouble finding the right words. "He likes responsibility. I think that he's going to come back to Rhuel after he finishes school in Central. "

Ed said, "I know."

* * *

With their final gift delivered and Al so elated that he was practically floating the two of them found that they still had some time to kill before their train was scheduled to leave Rhuel. At Al's prompting they stopped by the sheriff's office. "It would be rude not to at least say goodbye."

So Ed dragged his feet reluctantly towards the sheriff's office, his suitcase growing heavier and heavier with each step.

"He's going to be happy to see you up and about," Al assured him.

And to Ed's surprise, Al was right, or at least he wasn't wrong. Sheriff Biggs greeted them with a warm smile when they walked through the door, even got up from behind his desk and offered them a seat, which they took, and tea, which they declined.

"Did you get my letter?"

"Yes," Ed told him. He didn't mention that it was still in his pocket, unopened.

"You didn't read it, did you?"

Ed looked to the side.

"That's okay," the sheriff said, dropping his voice and leaning across the desk. "Listen, I had a long talk with Mason, a very long talk. I'm proud of that boy, but what he did, hiding that alchemist, was misguided."

"It made sense," Ed admitted. "He had a good reason for what he did. He wasn't wrong."

"Thank you for defending him. I'm sure he'd appreciate it, but why don't you let me be the father and you can be the alchemist?"

"Just… don't be too hard on him."

"This isn't the first time I've had to pull on the reigns. I know how to handle my son."

Ed noted how uncluttered the sheriff's desk appeared. "He went back to Central?"

"More than a week ago. Break wasn't quite over, but I think that we both needed the space. He said that he was sorry that he didn't get to say goodbye to you before he left. He said to tell you that he hopes you can come back for the festival next year. Hopefully it won't be as eventful as this year's."

Ed couldn't keep the shocked expression off of his face.

"Speaking of people who miss you, I imagine that there are a lot of people who will be happy to see you when you get back to East City."

"Some more than others…" Ed hinted ominously. "To tell you the truth I'm not exactly looking forward to facing my commanding officer."

The sheriff frowned, "Did you know that Colonel Mustang tried to visit you while you were ill?"

"Yeah, tried. We heard he got stopped at the door."

"Oh, it was a little more serious than that. Mustang and Doctor Nikola almost came to blows right out in front of the hospital."

"What?"

"If you want the full gossip I can get Mrs. Bosch on the phone. I'm sure she's wrung the details out of everyone who saw what happened. All I know is that I got a call from one of the nurses saying that there were some military officers at the clinic and it looked like there might be trouble. By the time Walter and I got there things seemed to have settled down a bit, or at least that's how it seemed because the military officers were putting their guns away."

Wait, Ed thought, Walter was awake?

"Guns?" Al asked fearfully.

"Apparently the colonel and another officer, a blond woman, showed up and tried to get into the hospital to see you and the doctor wouldn't let them. An argument ensued. I don't want to get bogged down with the details- "

"Please don't. I don't want to know," Ed said, burying his head mournfully in his hands.

" I'll just put it in law-enforcement terms and say that the colonel accused the doctor of holding a military officer hostage and the doctor accused the colonel of child neglect and putting a minor in jeopardy. The doctor claimed that the colonel and his subordinate were trying to force their way into the clinic. No actual crimes were committed in my presence so I couldn't make any arrests, but I did have to escort the colonel and the lieutenant to the train station."

"You made him leave?" Al asked. "Why? He's our friend."

Ed huffed at the word 'friend'.

"I'm sorry, Alphonse, but I didn't know that. My hands were tied. The colonel couldn't produce any kind of documentation stating that he was personally responsible for the two of you. Under Amestrian law children cannot be released from medical care to anyone other than a parent or guardian."

"I'm not a child!" Ed protested.

"Brother, calm down," Al urged.

"Minor, then," the sheriff corrected himself. "And the definition of a minor in Amestris is any person under the age of seventeen."

"But he's my commanding officer. Doesn't that make a difference?" Ed asked, hearing in his question the echo of the conversation he'd had with Lieutenant Colonel Hughes.

"Not in this case. I even looked it up on the books once the colonel was gone just to make sure that I was doing the right thing. In a situation like yours it's up to the local authorities to decide who has your best interests at heart. It wouldn't have been a good idea to move you in your condition, so I decided to leave you under Doctor Nikola's care."

"It would have been alright if you'd let him at least come and see us…" Al said gently, looking at Ed for agreement.

As much as Ed hated the idea of looking helpless in front of Mustang, he hated the idea of _anyone_ making decisions for them even more. "Yeah," Ed said mildly. "I would have been okay with that."

"I'm sorry, boys. Like I said, all I knew was that he was your commanding officer… and you weren't in any shape to follow orders."

"What did he say?" Ed asked, dreading the answer.

"The colonel? Nothing. I told him that there wasn't anything that they could do for you anyway and I asked him and his lieutenant to leave quietly, and they did. The colonel was silent the entire way back to the train station. I stayed with them and made sure that they all left town with the train and he never said one word. I'm sure he familiarized himself with the laws when he returned to East City. That's probably why I haven't heard from him since he left Rhuel. He knows that he didn't have a leg to stand on."

Ed's tepid phone conversation with Colonel Mustang made more sense to him now. After a public humiliation like that the Colonel had probably been trying to refrain from turning Ed to cinders over the telephone line.

"He's going to kill me," Ed groaned. "Any chance I can get you to sign me back over to the doc for a few more weeks?"

Ed was half joking but the look that the sheriff gave him was anything but amused.

"Are you familiar with military law, Edward?"

Ed glanced at Al, who shrugged, confused.

"Uh, a little. What are you getting at?"

"Did the military have you sign a contract when you joined?"

Ed thought about that. He considered all of the documents he'd ever come in contact with in his time with the military, and there had been a lot. The military was fond of its paperwork, but he didn't specifically remember signing anything.

Reading his confusion the sheriff added, "It would have been a term of service document, a contract that binds you to serve for a certain period of time, a year, two years, something like that."

"Maybe. I don't know." Ed had always just assumed that he'd been conscripted for life. He'd never really thought about what would happen to him after he got Al's body back. It just wasn't important. Besides, if he tried to leave the military before Mustang was through with him the colonel might spill their secret to the higher-ups. The power that the colonel had over them was more binding than any military contract could ever be. "I don't remember signing anything like that."

"That's good, because it would have been against the law," the sheriff informed them. "After the incident with the colonel I did some research and I found out that minors, even emancipated minors, are not supposed to be allowed to sign military contracts. Your service is considered voluntary. You can leave or be removed from duty at any time, provided of course that the state is not engaged in an active military campaign."

"You mean unless there's a war."

"Right."

"Sounds about right," Ed said, then he had a slow, sinking feeling in his stomach, like he'd swallowed a rock. Was that what Mustang wanted to talk to him about? What if he never fully recovered? Would he still be of use? If he got sick all the time then he wouldn't be able to travel. He'd be a liability, a broken chess piece.

Ed's eyes widened and he cast a panicked look at Al, "You don't think he'd- ?"

"What, brother?"

Ed paused with his mouth open.

No, the colonel would have said something. He wouldn't have Ed drag himself back to East City just to cut his strings…except that maybe he would. He'd have to collect Ed's pocket watch from him somehow. Mustang couldn't have a second rogue alchemist out terrorizing the countryside on his watch. It might make him look bad.

The thought that he had of lost the military's resources was devastating. He and Al were counting on those tools to help them get their bodies back to normal.

"Ed, what's wrong?"

Ed blinked and brought himself back to the present. "Nothing," he said distantly. "I'm sure it'll be fine." He tried to sound calm and relaxed but there was a knot in Ed's stomach, and it was only getting tighter.

The sheriff was giving Ed a very steady, searching look, the kind their mother used to give them when she knew they were trying to hide something from her. It was the kind of look that only a parent could give, and it made some part of him want to confess to things he hadn't even done yet.

"You know," the sheriff said casually. "Word gets around. While you were in the hospital I heard from a few families here in Rhuel who said that they wouldn't mind boarding a couple of teenagers, especially ones as talented as you. Granted, Rhuel isn't as exciting as East City or Central, but you could just be kids for a while, and I doubt you'd have trouble getting people here to sponsor you if you wanted to go to a university."

_Just be kids…_

Ed's memory handed him of vision of he and Al racing each other up a grassy hill to a house where there was a mother waiting for them, and dinner on the table.

But in Ed's vision Al was a boy with sandy blond hair and eyes like their mother's. Ed had all of his limbs: flesh and blood, the two of them.

"The military doesn't have the authority to keep you if you decide to leave, and if you do, you have somewhere to go."

But Al was a suit of armor and Ed might never be whole again, not as long as he carried the burden of what he'd done. There was no home for them to go back to, no choice for them but to move ahead.

"But you don't want to leave the military, do you?" the sheriff asked.

Ed and Al exchanged a look, and with it Ed could feel a renewal of their pact with one another.

Al told the sheriff solemnly, "Thank you for the offer, sir. Please tell those families that they're very kind, but we already have someplace to go."

Sheriff Biggs seemed genuinely disappointed with their decision, but one look at their determined expressions forestalled any further argument that he might have made. Instead, he thanked them for their help and wished them a safe journey, then let them carry on. Ed thought that it was the mark of a good parent that he knew when to let go.

To be continued...


	15. Chapter 15

PART 15

After Ed and Al had said their goodbyes to the sheriff they began their inevitable march toward the train station. They even arrived ahead of time and found that the previous train to East City had been delayed offloading cargo, leaving them with the option of taking that one instead. It would put them in East City a half hour ahead of schedule.

Ed wasn't looking forward to his meeting with the colonel, but it was going to happen sooner or later and if Ed had to choose, he'd choose sooner. "No sense putting it off."

"Everything will work out, Brother. You'll see."

Ed wished that he shared his younger brother's unshakable faith and optimism. It might have helped him sleep on the train ride. As it was he spent the duration curled up on the bench seat, facing away from his brother so that Al wouldn't think he was awake. He doubted that his brother was convinced anyway.

The packet of letters that he'd brought with him felt heavy in his pocket, and although he was a little curious about what they said, his mind was too occupied with other things. He couldn't let himself dwell on what he was leaving behind, couldn't let himself wonder about paths not taken.

When the train pulled into the station Ed was on his feet before it had even come to a complete stop. He got far enough ahead of his brother so that Al couldn't see him dump the packet of letters in the nearest trash receptacle. The only thing he kept was Hughes' picture of Elicia.

The sky was clear and blue above them, and the ground was dry below. There was a crisp breeze blowing at their backs. It was a good day for walking.

They took a cab.

The ride to East City headquarters was both too long and too short. Ed was eager to have his meeting with the colonel over and done with but he was less eager to meet him in the first place.

Despite Al's coaxing Ed hadn't eaten anything during the train ride, and now Al sat beside him in the cab of the taxi with a paper bag of cross buns on his lap. The bag was spotted with translucent dots where the buns touched the paper and butter had seeped through. Just the sight turned Ed's stomach.

Too soon, Ed and Al's taxi arrived at East Headquarters. Ed paid the driver and thanked him. Two seconds later Ed couldn't have told Al the driver's name or anything else about the man.

Ed stepped out of the cab onto the smooth gray pavement in front of the tall iron gates that separated the orderly world of the military from everything else. Life outside these gates was messy and complicated, a big gray area. On the other side every question could be answered with a 'yes' or 'no', and that answer had better have a 'sir' attached to it.

"C'mon Al. Let's get this over with."

Ed trudged forward. Al's clanking footfalls echoed his own, heavy and ominous.

It was a quiet Monday morning at East headquarters, the eerie calm before the storm. A glance at his pocket watch showed Ed that he and Al had arrived well after the start of the morning shift. Even the bleary-eyed stragglers who had enjoyed their days off a little too much would be at their desks by now and halfway through their second or third cups of coffee.

On their way up the main steps Ed and Al passed a couple of sergeants who were engaged in animated conversation and a lone corporal carrying a messenger's satchel. The sergeants were so engaged in their conversation that they failed to notice the two alchemists, but the corporal happened to glance their way. He stopped in his tracks and stared.

Ed had seen the corporal around. He knew the man's face but not his name.

"You got a problem, pal?" Ed huffed.

Apparently not because the man's head snapped forward and he fled, stumbling down the steps.

Ed made the exchange without breaking his stride but when he reached the top of the stairs he had to lean against one of the building's majestic pillars, wheezing and mopping sweat off his forehead with a gloved hand.

"Chief? Is that you?"

Ed didn't want to look up but his reflexes took over before he could engage his brain.

Second lieutenants Jean Havoc and Heymans Breda were standing about a meter away from him at the top of the steps. There was a lit cigarette dangling between Havoc's lips, a ribbon of smoke connecting the burning tip to the sky. Breda, who typically wore his military-issued jacket unbuttoned whenever the situation allowed, was completely without it today. Despite their casual appearance it was immediately clear to Ed that the two men weren't out here on a break. Both Breda and Havoc were carrying collapsible shovels, the kind that the military issued its soldiers so that they could dig trenches when they were in the field. There was a pair of thick leather workman's gloves folded under Havoc's belt and both men were wearing knee-high boots that, like the cuffs of their trousers, were already dusty with dried mud.

After a moment of hesitation Havoc and Breda wandered closer. "So you're back now," Breda said. "How are you doing? Heard you were sick."

Ed pulled his shoulders back and drew himself up straighter in an effort to look less pathetic. He could see by the way Breda's smile faded that it wasn't working. "Wow, guess we heard right."

"Thanks," Ed replied flatly. "Hey, what's with the shovels? Has the bastard got you digging trenches now?"

Breda and Havoc exchanged a look and Havoc shrugged mildly. Both of them were used to Ed's insubordination. "Close. Moving sandbags, among other things. There was some flooding while you were gone. Rain's stopped but we're still dealing with the cleanup. It's going to be a quiet day at the office."

Ed hadn't even been aware that he was holding his face in a scowl until it left his face. "Flooding?" he asked. "How bad?"

"The Marl overflowed the East bank. We built a retaining wall and that kept it mostly contained, saved the city a lot of structural damage, but the market district is a real mess. We've been shoveling mud out of the streets for about a week."

"It may be hard work but it's great for the shoulders," Breda said, arching his back and stretching his arms toward the sky.

A week. Ed counted backwards from the day that he had been sent on his mission and realized that he and Al had been away for nearly a month, and it had rained for most of that time. Ed had sat in his sickbed in Rhuel and listened to the raindrops landing on the roof. Al thought it was soothing. Ed thought it was depressing. He never once considered that the same rain was falling in East City too. The eastern areas of Amestris, with their relatively dry climate and arid soil were prone to flooding, and now that he thought about it he should have known that with that many days of rain that the ground would be saturated and the river would rise, like it had in Risembool the day he had Al had met their teacher, when she used alchemy to create a barrier to keep the rising water back. Ed remembered the flash of light, and the height of the walls as they rose up from the murky water, a simple transmutation. Duplicating it would have been an easy task for Ed, had he been there and not laid up like an invalid in some backwater town.

"We're on our way to Front Street. There's still a lot of debris in the road, broken glass, ruined merchandise. Sooner we get the shops back on their feet the better."

Ed sighed heavily. "I bet you could use another alchemist or two, right?"

Beside him, Al straightened in surprise and made a noise like the beginning of a protest. Ed silenced him with a look.

Havoc and Breda exchanged a surreptitious glance, as if conferring with one another over Ed's suggestion. Havoc said casually, "Well, we have been working double shifts just to clear the sandbags."

"Good, then I'm coming with you," Ed said with determination. He turned and took a few steps down the stairs. Then he felt a heavy hand drop onto his flesh shoulder. "Hold up, Boss."

"What?"

Breda's heavy features were set in a grim expression. "Sorry, but we can't use you today."

"What? Why the hell not?"

"Orders."

Ed ground his teeth. "Orders, huh. Whose orders?" he asked, even though he already knew.

Breda didn't even bat an eye. "The other boss. The one who can send us to Fort Briggs with or without snapping his fingers. He told us to expect you back today."

Ed thought he could feel steam escaping his ears.

"We're early!" he spat. "What the hell does he care what I do with my spare time?"

Havoc took drag off his cigarette and exhaled a stream of smoke into the air.

"Dunno. You can ask him that when you see him."

Ed opened his mouth to object and smoke got in his throat. He clamped his lips shut on a cough.

"Hey, you alright?"

Ed nodded vigorously. Neither of the second lieutenants looked convinced.

Breda sighed. "Listen, you're gonna find out anyway but I might as well warn you that the colonel's not in a good mood."

"Great," Ed wheezed. "Tell me something I don't know."

"He's been on edge since he and Lieutenant Hawkeye got back from Rhuel. I don't think I've never seen the colonel so mad," Breda said, glancing at Havoc for confirmation. Havoc nodded.

Ed cringed.

Breda was giving him a curious, searching look. "Can't seem to get a straight answer out of the colonel," he confessed. "What happened to you out there?"

Ed looked up at him. Most people took Breda for a grunt, a meat-head, but the second lieutenant's stocky, muscular appearance was misleading. Ed could see the wheels turning under that shaggy crew cut, had watched him put two and two together quicker than most people.

Ed spared a glance at Havoc, who was standing casually off to the side regarding Ed with a mild, almost blank expression. While Breda appeared intent and focused on Ed's reply, Havoc showed a more relaxed kind of interest, more like curiosity. But for all of their differences Ed could see that they were both equally invested in his answer. Neither of them seemed to Ed like the kind of men who sought out the latest gossip to feed to the typing pool, so Ed wasn't sure why they were so interested in what had happened to him. He didn't exactly consider either of the men friends. Colleagues maybe, but not friends. Ed and Al tried to spend as little time hanging around Eastern Headquarters as possible, so they hadn't exactly had many opportunities to bond with Mustang's subordinates. Breda and Havoc seemed like good guys. Ed talked to them sometimes, mostly about military business and office stuff, nothing too personal. He'd played a game or two of chess with Breda, and Havoc had given Ed his first cigarette, and then laughed at him and pounded him on the back when Ed got sick from it. Other than that he couldn't say that he was close with either of them, but the open concern on their faces told a different story.

Silence stretched out between them. Ed looked down. "Nothing too exciting," he said.

Breda's expression tightened. His lips formed a thin, discontent line and he folded his arms over his broad chest. In contrast Havoc accepted Ed's abbreviated answer with a small nod, the way that he might accept an order to march head on into a wall of fire. This was a soldier's sort of understanding, a coming to terms with the fact that he would never be told everything, because he didn't need to know everything, and he had better get used to that.

Havoc came forward and slapped the larger man between his tightening shoulders.

"Well, anyway, it's good to have you back," he told Ed.

Breda relaxed a hair. "Yeah, good to have you back, Chief," he agreed stiffly.

Ed swallowed convulsively, trying to get rid of the tickle in his throat. "Thanks."

Havoc cleared his throat, "You know, the way the colonel talked, for a while there he made it sound like you might not be coming back."

Havoc looked between the older brother and the younger brother.

Ed felt his cheeks color. He forced a smile and in his best upbeat voice he said, "Yeah, well he can keep dreaming. I'm not that easy to get rid of."

Breda's expression didn't change but one corner of Havoc's mouth turned up in a slow smile. He reached out a hand and ruffled Ed's hair. "Glad to hear it." Ed tried not to be bothered by the fact that the tall second lieutenant had to lean over a bit to do it. "Thanks for offering to help with the cleanup, but I think you'd better save your energy. You're gonna need it."

"Don't remind me," Ed moaned.

Breda cracked a smile then, "Good luck, Chief. Watch yourself."

As the two lieutenants turned to leave a thought occurred to Ed. He called after them, "Hey you said you could use help right?"

Breda and Havoc paused.

"Well, what about Al?" Ed continued. He turned to his brother. "Al, why don't you go with them?"

"Brother, are you sure?" Al asked.

"Yeah. Go on, Al. I'll be fine," Ed reassured him, trying to sound chipper. He turned to Breda and Havoc. "The colonel didn't say anything about Al, did he?"

"Not that I remember." Breda glanced at Havoc, who shook his head.

Al wasn't military, but it had been Ed's experience that people didn't generally object to someone in a seven-foot-tall suit of armor wandering around in a restricted zone.

"Keep him out of trouble, would you?" Ed asked. The request might seem silly, but just because Al's body was made of metal that didn't mean that he was invulnerable. Ed didn't like the idea of his little brother wandering around alone.

"We'll keep an eye on him. Don't you worry," Havoc assured him with a smile.

Al looked back at Ed and Ed gave him a reassuring smile. Al took a few hasty, clanging steps to catch up to the second lieutenants and the three of them walked side-by-side down the steps.

Ed watched the tops of their heads until they disappeared, Breda's first, then Havoc's, then Al's. Ed continued to stand at the top of the steps until he couldn't hear Al's footsteps anymore. As he stood there Ed realized with growing amazement that he had entrusted his little brother to the colonel's subordinates without a second thought. He was even more surprised to discover that he didn't have any regrets about doing so. Ed realized that he trusted them, not just to have his back, but Al's as well.

Ed wondered when that had happened.

More importantly, he wondered how many other people had earned his trust while he hadn't been paying attention.

* * *

The reception desk in the foyer of East Headquarters was a long, imposing piece of furniture made of some kind of rare and no doubt expensive dark wood. On a normal day it was flanked by four guards and manned by half a dozen uniformed receptionists seated on high stools that put them a head a shoulders above anyone who entered. Today the only person stationed at the desk was a tiny, frail-looking woman who had to be at least the same age as Granny Pinako, if not older. She was dressed in a military uniform that was faded from years of washing. Her gray hair was pulled back away from her face in a bun so tight it pulled at the papery skin around her eyes. She was so small that Ed could only see her face from the nose up, but he recognized her as Lieutenant General Grumman's personal secretary. He'd met her only a handful of times, but from what he'd seen he was inclined to think that the reason the guards weren't in the foyer wasn't because they were busy moving sandbags on the east bank of the Marl. The guards weren't there because she simply didn't need them.

Ed approached with trepidation, prepared to exhibit an excruciating level of politeness to get her to watch his suitcase while he went upstairs to see Colonel Mustang. So he was shocked into slack-jawed silence when she flashed him a smile and hopped down from her seat (vanishing momentarily) and came around the side of the desk to take his luggage from him.

"Go on up, dear," she told him.

Ed stood there, empty-handed and dumbfounded until he remembered where he was, thanked her, and beat a hasty retreat before she could change he mind. He was halfway up the first set of stairs when he remembered Mrs. Bosch's gift to the colonel, which he'd tucked away in his suitcase. After a moment's hesitation he decided it was better to retrieve it now than to be caught with it later.

Ed drew a disapproving look from the secretary when he cracked his suitcase open next to the desk and pulled the bottle out. "It's for the colonel," he explained, pointing to the tag.

"You're giving him moonshine?" she asked, raising one over-plucked eyebrow.

"What's moonshine?"

"That," she said, pointing at the bottle.

Ed shrugged. "Guess so."

Bottle retrieved, Ed hustled up the stairs, taking them quickly, then less quickly as he remembered his destination. Exhaustion washed over him, and it had nothing to do with the number of stairs he'd climbed today.

Colonel Mustang's office was on the third floor which, like the rest of the building, was quiet today, eerily so, but Ed refused to be intimidated by the silence. He took a deep breath, which somehow left him dizzy, and marched toward the colonel's office with his arms stiff at his sides and a determined scowl on his face. The hall seemed to recede ahead of him, growing longer and longer until Ed's world had been pared down to the walls that surrounded him and the plush carpet beneath his feet. He was so focused on the task of putting one foot in front of the other that he almost walked right past his destination, and if he'd given it more thought, he probably would have been better off if he just kept going.

Too late for that, Ed thought as he stared down the heavy wooden door in front of him.

Ed squared his shoulders, brought his eyebrows together in a frown and raised his automail hand to knock, and froze.

He dropped his hand and took a deep, steadying breath, then raised his gloved flesh hand, and knocked.

And waited.

And exhaled when he realized that he was holding his breath.

Ed knocked again, then tried the doorknob and found it unlocked. He opened the door, slowly at first and then more quickly when he realized that the room on the other side was as silent as the hall.

There was no one inside. The desks that should have been occupied by Colonel Mustang's staff at this time of day were cleared of paperwork. Typewriters were covered. Pencils and pens were put away or lying neatly next to blotters. Inkwells were sealed up and the radio was turned off.

It was too early in the day for everyone to be at lunch, and even if Mustang's entire staff was off digging Front Street out from under a pile of mud Ed reasoned that they would at least leave someone behind to answer the phones. Besides, neither Fuery nor Falman seemed like they'd be particularly handy with a shovel and Ed was pretty sure that the colonel would avoid getting his hands dirty at all costs.

"Hello? Colonel?"

Slowly, as if he were expecting someone to pop out from underneath one of the desks, Ed shut the door behind him, then pealed his coat off and hung it on the rack near the door.

Nothing.

He wandered over to the Colonel's desk, which was as uncharacteristically clean as his subordinates', and plunked Mrs. Bosch's moonshine right in the middle of it, maybe a little harder than necessary. He checked to see if he'd dented the wood and was sort of disappointed that he hadn't.

Ed looked out the window at the parade ground below. Things were nearly as quiet down there as they were three stories up.

"I don't believe it. He's not even here!" Ed told the empty room, lifting his arms off of his sides indignantly.

The room didn't have anything to say to that.

He'd never been alone in this office alone before. If this were any other day he would have been more than happy to take advantage of this set of circumstances, but today something just didn't feel right. He felt like he was missing a joke, or like he was the butt of a joke. He wasn't sure which, and it irritated him, made him nervous and fidgety.

The colonel wasn't here, clearly hadn't been here all day and, Ed reasoned, wasn't likely to show up anytime soon. Ed's body had built up a surge of adrenaline to help him deal with this encounter. Now that it seemed like it wasn't going to happen he felt that unspent energy bleed out of him, leaving him shaky.

Ed supposed that he should return to the dorms. At least he could get some rest. No sooner had that thought crossed his mind than his stubborn streak kicked in. He slouched over to Mustang's sofa and helped himself to a seat, right in the middle. He sat up straight, arms crossed, frowning. He was going to wait right here until Mustang showed up. He'd been told to report and he was reporting.

Ed sat up as straight as he could for as long as he could, which turned out not to be very long.

After a few minutes had passed and still no Mustang Ed let himself relax a little. He rested his back against the cushions, then his head, and let his arms drop into his lap. Alarmingly, Ed felt his eyelids begin to droop. He shook himself, sat up straighter and focused all of his energy into glaring at Mustang's coffee table. He tried breathing deep, tried channeling his irritation into staying alert, but even that didn't last. Before long Ed felt his brow relax and his body begin to slide down the cushions until, with a sigh he gave up and curled up on his side with his knees tucked up to his chest.

Ed didn't hear the door to Mustang's office open. He was hovering somewhere on the edge of consciousness and thought he might be dreaming the soft footfalls as they approached the sofa. Then the cushions sank and Ed's eyes snapped open. His field of vision was filled with the forest-green color of the upholstery until he sat straight upright and found Riza Hawkeye sitting on the other end of the couch, knees close together, holding a steaming coffee mug with both hands. She was regarding him calmly, as if she found someone sleeping on the colonel's couch every day.

Ed put his feet on the floor and dropped his head forward into his hands, rubbing at his tired face. He accidentally pulled several strands of hair free from his braid but thanks to the wind outside, Havoc's earlier gesture of fondness and Ed's impromptu nap the queue was a complete loss anyway. Besides, his hair was the least of his worries at the moment.

"Guess I shouldn't have my feet on the furniture," Ed said, feeling heat climbing into his cheeks, his resentment replaced by humiliation.

Hawkeye's expression didn't change. "You're early," she observed.

"Yeah, well, the colonel said he wanted to see me," Ed didn't dare call him 'the bastard' in front of her. Somehow it didn't seem right. "I figured sooner was better than later. Thought he'd at least have the decency to be here," Ed grumbled.

"Where is Alphonse?" she asked, ignoring his complaints.

"With Breda and Havoc. He's helping with the cleanup on the waterfront. We ran into the lieutenants coming up the steps."

"That's very kind of him," she commented.

"Yeah, I suppose," Ed said indifferently. He had initially felt the need to explain why he hadn't gone to help as well, but Hawkeye didn't seem to need an explanation. "Where is everyone?"

The phone on the lieutenant's desk chose that moment to ring. She calmly set down her coffee mug and rose. "Excuse me," she said to Ed as she picked up the handset. "Hawkeye here."

Ed could just make out the sound of Fuery's tinny, distant, slightly panicked voice on the other end of the line.

Hawkeye listened for a moment and when Fuery paused for a breath she said, with her usual composure, "Calm down, Master Sergeant. He's already here."

Ed couldn't make out exactly what Fuery was saying but his heart sank as the Master Sergeant's tone shifted from panicked to relieved and finally ended on a note of concerned irritation. It was pretty clear that Ed had managed to inconvenience another person with his latest unintentionally rebellious stunt.

"No, that's alright… " Hawkeye said into the mouthpiece. "Of course…There's no rush… Thank you. Goodbye."

She calmly placed the receiver back in the cradle.

"We took an earlier train," Ed explained. "The colonel said to call if we were going to be late. He didn't say anything about being early, so I didn't call. Sorry if we put you out."

Ed looked at the carpet underneath his feet, utterly defeated and not by some unfamiliar opponent, but by the knowledge that he had disappointed so many people whom he thought of as allies, even, he now realized, friends.

"There's no need to apologize, Edward."

Hawkeye moved closer. The cushions of the sofa sighed under her weight as she sat down next to him.

"Most of the staff are helping with the cleanup on the Marl," she said, answering Ed's earlier question. "Colonel Mustang had an unscheduled meeting to attend. It's likely that he'll be out of the office for most of the day. That's why he sent Master Sergeant Fuery to pick you up. He was supposed to take you and Al to the dorms."

"Oh." Ed felt his cheeks burn. So the slight hadn't been intentional. A little voice in the back of Ed's head that sounded a lot like Al told him that he shouldn't have overreacted.

"I'll reschedule your meeting with the colonel. I assume you're free tomorrow afternoon?"

Ed hesitated. "Uh, you said he'd be back later, right?"

"That's right."

"Then if it's alright I'll just wait."

He anticipated some kind of an argument. He expected her to ask how he was feeling, or to tell him to get some rest, but all she said was, "Of course."

Ed felt the tension in his shoulders ease.

He looked up in surprise when Hawkeye said candidly, "It's good to have you back, Edward. I'm very glad that you're okay."

Before Ed could think of a reply Riza Hawkeye reached out and wrapped her arms around him, pulling him into an embrace. At first Ed was too surprised to react, so he sat there stiffly, afraid to relax but equally afraid to pull away. Her arms were warm and strong and solid, comforting. She smelled good, like gun oil and clean laundry and soap, and something else underneath it all, something warm and human. He rested his head on her shoulder, closed his eyes, and let himself be held.

Too soon, she let him go. Ed felt the cold air rush between them as she broke off their contact. He shivered.

"Would you like a cup of coffee, or something from the cafeteria?" she asked.

Still recovering from his shock at her unexpected show of affection Ed said, "Oh, no… thank you."

Hawkeye picked up her cup of coffee and stood. "I have some reports to finish up. Otherwise it should be a quiet day at the office." Something in the way that she said it made Ed think that she was going to make sure that it was a quiet day at the office.

Her business done, Hawkeye made her way over to her workspace. For a while Ed sat quietly, listening to the rhythmic tapping of keys on her typewriter. The noise soon lulled Ed into a peaceful trance, and from there it was an easy downward slide into sleep.

More than once Ed thought he heard the creak of a door hinge, followed by the hiss of metal against leather and the snick of a gun being cocked, then the sound of a door shutting quickly once more. At least he thought that he heard something like that, but he might have been imagining it.

To be continued...


	16. Chapter 16

PART 16

Ed woke up sometime in the afternoon. He was warm and comfortable. His face was buried in the green sofa cushions and his own coat had been thrown over him like a blanket. The room was quiet and still, peaceful. The only sounds that Ed could hear were the distant voices of soldiers and vehicles in the yard outside and the faint scratching of a pen against paper. Ed would have gone back to sleep except that he noticed that Hawkeye's desk was empty, and the studious sound of paperwork being completed, which usually came from her area, was in fact coming from across the room.

Roy Mustang was sitting at his desk, dark head bowed, pen in hand. The bottle of moonshine was still in plain sight but had been moved to the corner of the colonel's desk.

Mustang didn't look up when Ed shifted on the sofa. He didn't look up when Ed pushed his coat back and sat up. At first he was grateful for the lack of attention. It gave him time to pull his confused, sleep-muddled thoughts together and smooth his hair and clothes into a somewhat presentable state. Still the colonel kept his eyes on his work.

After a few minutes of being ignored Ed started to wonder if he was beneath the colonel's notice or if paperwork just required _that_ much concentration.

Finally he cleared his throat and said, "You asked to see me, sir?" in a gravelly voice.

"Fullmetal," the colonel said. He set down his pen. Then he laced his fingers together over his work and looked across his desk at Ed. His movements were calculated, deliberate, but when his eyes finally rested on Ed, something faltered. A window opened, then slammed shut again before Ed could see what was on the other side. "Please come here."

Mustang's voice was so serious that Ed obeyed without thinking. He rose slowly and closed the distance between the couch and the desk, feeling as if he were moving through water.

"Have a seat."

There was a chair in front of Mustang's desk that had never, to Ed's knowledge, been there before.

Ed sat. His eyes flicked side-to-side like a cornered animal.

The colonel rested his elbows on his desk and brought his laced fingers up to his chin. He looked at Ed over the top of them. When their eyes met, something like pity clouded the colonel's face before he was able to school it into military neutrality.

"I owe you an apology," Mustang told him. At the same time Ed said, "I'm sorry," like the words tasted bad.

Ed took advantage of the colonel's brief shocked silence. He continued, "I hope you don't think that I had anything to do with you getting run out of town. I didn't."

"Hmm," the colonel said, which could have meant anything.

"So… I'm sorry about that."

The colonel put a hand up. "You say it wasn't your fault and I believe you. From what I understood you weren't in any shape to follow orders anyway."

It was strange to hear the sheriff's words echoed by the colonel. If it hadn't been for Mustang's somber tone Ed would have thought the colonel was messing with him.

"So you actually came after me…" Ed said, speaking more to himself than to the colonel.

"Is that so hard to believe?"

"No… " Ed said, but he didn't sound convincing, not even to himself.

Mustang made a vaguely offended "Hmph" sound and crossed his arms over his chest. "The welfare of my subordinates is one of my top priorities," he said formally.

Subordinates. He made it sound so clinical.

"If it was so important why didn't you just use your flames to scare the doctor into letting you in?"

Ed was sure he saw sweat forming on the colonel's brow.

"Don't think I didn't consider it. I doubt that would have done much to convince the doctor that I was a reasonable man, though."

"It was raining, wasn't it?"

"Hmm," Mustang said.

Ed felt some of the tension drain out of the room. He gave a brief, dry chuckle. "Huh. Must have driven you nuts, not being able to keep an eye on me all that time…"

If Ed had chosen to look up just a moment later he might have missed the stunned expression on Mustang's face. The colonel covered it quickly.

Ed looked down and tried to cover for himself in a small, embarrassed voice, "…seeing as how you always seem to know about everything that we do, I mean."

"It was definitely frustrating not having any information about the two of you. I understood that you were very ill." He looked away and said, in a voice like he was answering the phone or requesting a file from accounting, "I was worried."

Ed felt his cheeks becoming red. The carpet was suddenly very interesting. "Yeah, well, you shouldn't have been. I was fine."

"Hmm. That is not how I understood the situation. As your commanding officer your welfare is my responsibility, and I take that duty very seriously. I shouldn't have sent you on that mission when I knew that you were sick."

"Hey, I made that decision on my own. I didn't have to take the mission. You even said so."

"Still, I should not have put you in that position in the first place."

"You couldn't have known what would happen. Hell, I thought it was the flu just like everybody else did."

Mustang pinched the bridge of his nose like he had a headache or his eyes were bothering him. After a deep breath he said, "Fullmetal, I put you at risk by suggestion this mission. It was an error in judgment on my part and I apologize."

Ed countered, "You can't make all of my decisions for me. You didn't stick me outside in the rain and you didn't make me sick in the first place!"

"Dammit, Fullmetal, stop arguing with me and accept my apology!"

"No! What do you have to apologize for? It was my damn fault!"

"Because you're my responsibility, that's why!"

But that was the point: Ed wasn't his responsibility, not when it came to civilian matters.

There was a silent moment during which they both took deep breaths and collected themselves.

"So," Ed said on an exhalation that sounded too ragged for a healthy soldier, "Does this mean that you're not kicking me out." He couldn't quite keep the hopefulness out of his voice.

"Kicking you out?"

"Of the military."

"I have no plans to do so at this time," Mustang answered diplomatically. He raised a questioning eyebrow, "Why? Did you do something destructive or illegal in Rhuel that I don't know about?"

Ed had to think for a moment. "No." Not that he'd mention it if he had. "I thought that… because I was so sick- "

"Stop right there. I spoke to Alphonse about your medical needs before you left Rhuel. You'll stay in East City under the care of the company physician until you've made a full recovery… and I _do_ expect you to make a full recovery. Understood?"

Ed nodded, mouth dry.

"Is there something else?"

"I disobeyed orders," Ed confessed. "You told me not to act without reporting in, and I went after Leon Mueller anyway. Then I let him go."

Ed looked up and found Mustang actually smiling.

"What's so funny?"

"I had a feeling that we weren't dealing with a typical criminal and I knew you would be able to find a solution to the problem on your own, and you did. I gave you that order assuming that you would disobey it."

So the bastard had been manipulating him all along.

"Why are you upset?"

"I'm not upset," Ed snarled.

"Do you want to leave the military?" Mustang asked him frankly.

"No!" Ed's answer was immediate and emphatic.

"Alright then. We're both in agreement. You don't want to leave and I don't want you to leave."

Maybe there was a part of Ed that had longed to be cut loose from the military, because when the colonel spoke, Ed felt like the walls were a little closer, the air a little thinner. He felt trapped, but this was the bargain he had struck. This was what he had agreed to and there was no turning back. If the colonel was looking for verification of that, then he could have it.

"That's right," Ed responded.

The military's leash might be heavy at times, but there was comfort in that weight.

"Let me ask you a question, Ed."

"Like you need my permission."

Mustang pretended not to have heard him. "Have you ever been sorry that I came to Resembool when I did?"

"What? Why are you asking?" Ed asked suspiciously.

Roy Mustang drew a deep breath, "Do you ever wish I hadn't shown up when I did? Are you sorry that I pointed you in the direction of the military?"

It had always seemed pointless to Ed to consider things that hadn't happened. Their dad left, their mom died, he and Al had tried human transmutation and failed. Those things weren't going to change, so sitting around moaning about what could have been was a waste of time.

"What are you talking about?" Ed asked in an offended tone, "It's not like you can go back and change anything."

But maybe he was being hypocritical, because wasn't that the point of his and Al's mission: to get back what they'd lost? To erase the mistake that they'd made in trying to bring their mother back? No. That mistake could not be erased, even if they somehow got rid of the physical evidence. It would always be there, inside him, the knowledge of the sin that they'd committed, that he'd convinced his brother to commit.

"I provided you with an opportunity, but I sometimes think that by doing so I stole a piece of your childhood from you. I wonder if you think the same thing."

"You didn't steal anything. I would have figured it out. I would have come to the military on my own," Ed said. He filled his voice with determination, but the truth was that without Mustang's guidance Ed would have had a very difficult time finding his way to the path that he and Al were on now. "Besides," he continued, "you can't steal something that's already been taken away."

"Hmm. What an eloquent way to put it. You could have been a poet."

"Yeah, a one-armed one-legged poet, with a walking, talking suit of armor for a brother," Ed said, and the sad realization of what might have become of them had Mustang not interfered in their lives dawned on him. "Thank you… " Ed struggled with what to say next, "Don't ask me to be more specific than that, just… thank you."

"Accept my apology and we'll call it even."

Ed sucked in a breath. "Fine."

"Fine what?"

"You win, alright?"

"I'm not sure what you think I won."

"I accept your damn apology!" Ed snapped.

Mustang's mouth curved in a smug little smile. "You're welcome, Fullmetal." Then the colonel's smile faded and his pressed his lips together as if in thought.

After a few awkward beats Ed asked, "So, do you like your gift?"

The colonel appeared distracted. It took him a second to respond. "My-? This?" he asked, indicating the bottle on his desk.

"It's from Mrs. Bosch. It's a thank-you gift for sending us to fix her porch."

"Oh," the colonel said uncertainly. "That was very kind of her."

Mustang slid the bottle closer to himself, eyeing the contents of the bottle. With a gloved hand he worked the stopper free of the bottle's neck and took a cautious sniff. His eyes widened and Ed could have sworn that for an instant the hair on his head stood on end.

Mustang replaced the stopper and coughed politely into his fist.

"She said it's an old family cold remedy," Ed explained.

Mustang looked vaguely horrified. He asked, "Did she make you drink any of this?"

Ed shrugged. "A little."

Very deliberately and with an expression that Ed didn't quite understand, Mustang removed the bottle from his desktop and placed it in the top drawer. Then he locked the drawer.

"So… are we done here, colonel?" Ed asked impatiently. Clearly he wasn't going to get a pat on the back or a 'job well done' or even a 'glad you're not dead' from the man. But what the hell did he expect? It wasn't like they were friends or anything.

Ed's eyes stung. He blinked.

Oh for the love of… why the hell should that upset him?

"Not quite," Mustang said.

With the bottle gone there was only one thing remaining on the colonel's desk. It was an official-looking document, trimmed in silver leaf, with spaces at the bottom for three signatures and a state seal.

Mustang slid the sheet of paper across his desk toward Ed.

"What's this?"

"This last assignment of yours gave me a few things to think about."

Ed picked up the sheet of paper carefully, as if it might burst into flame at the slightest mishandling.

He began to read.

Most of the words on the document were legal-speak: party of the first part, blah blah blah, but the further Ed read the more he came to understand what it was he was reading. What he didn't understand was what Mustang wanted him to do with this.

Mustang explained, "I'd like you to put someone down as a guardian, even if it's just on paper."

Ed's gut reaction was to refuse, but then he realized that there was a loophole.

"Fine," Ed said casually. "Al can be my guardian. I'll be his."

Mustang shook his head. "It has to be an adult. Someone over eighteen years of age."

Ed scanned the document. The colonel was right.

"Can it be anyone?"

"Preferably someone that you know and have frequent contact with. Someone whom you trust to make decisions for you when you can't make them for yourself."

Ed tried to think of someone whom he trusted completely, who would act in his best interests. He had his brother, who was too young, Granny Pinako, who was too far away, and Winry, who was both. Everyone he saw on a regular basis was in the military: Hughes, Hawkeye, Breda, Falman, Havoc... It wasn't as if he didn't trust them, but if Ed's best interests were ever at odds with what the military wanted, he couldn't rely on them to choose his best interests over the military's.

Ed looked away from the paper. "Sorry, colonel. I don't know anybody like that."

He got up without being dismissed.

"Fullmetal, military life can be dangerous. From here on your assignments will only become more difficult. If you became injured or ill, there could easily be another incident like this one."

Ed stopped and turned. "What's wrong with the way this one turned out?"

Mustang looked offended, and for the life of him Ed couldn't figure out why. "Things turned out alright this time, but you can't always trust those who happen to be around to make decisions that are in your best interests."

"I'll take my chances," Ed said stubbornly.

Mustang sighed and rubbed his temple with two fingers. "Ed, I think that it's time that you gave some practical consideration to what might happen if things had gone differently."

"What do you mean?" Ed asked suspiciously.

"If you hadn't survived, or if you had but needed to be hospitalized for a very long time. Who would look after you? Who would cover your expenses?"

In a small voice Ed asked, "Wouldn't the military…?"

"In the short term, yes, but let's say that you were injured in a more permanent way. It happens. You know it does. Remember that there are worse things than dying."

Ed tried hard not to imagine himself as one of the living corpses he'd seen in hospitals, soldiers with head wounds so severe that they were reduced to the level of babies, needing feeding and changing, unable to speak, unable to move, completely reliant on others just to live.

Mustang went on, "How would Al get his body back without access to the military's resources?"

Ed froze, trying to see the threat in Mustang's words, in his body language. All that he sensed was a cold sort of practicality. Of course if Ed weren't around any more Al wouldn't have access to Ed's research budget.

Ed didn't plan on dying, not before he returned Al to his body, not if he could help it. He stood up straight, determined, at attention. His expression hardened. "Al's smart. He'd find a way to get by without me."

"I see, and how is that?" the colonel inquired.

"He can work, perform alchemy. He doesn't need to sleep. He doesn't need to eat…" as Ed spoke the horror of what he was saying sank in: his brother, alone, without Ed to watch his back, unable to settle down for fear that someone would uncover his secret. How long could Al exist like that? How long before he encountered someone who would want to take him apart for the secrets that his body held?

Ed was lost in thought, adrift and unable to remember what he'd been saying. Mustang seemed to know what he was going on inside his head and rescued him. "Al won't be able to stay in one place for very long. That will make earning a living very difficult. Travel and research can be expensive."

"We have friends in Resembool. They'll help Al if he needs it."

"That seems like heavy burden to lay at the Rockbells' feet."

It disturbed Ed on a fundamental level when Mustangs spoke their names. He felt like the colonel was using his intimate knowledge of their sin against him. It conjured up the memory of a time when Ed had been broken and bleeding, lying helpless on a mattress in the Rockbell home. But even then he had been determined, oh so determined not to give up.

Ed said, "Al could join the military, become a state alchemist."

"He's a suit of armor, Edward," Mustang pointed out, infuriatingly calm.

"Why are we talking about this?" Ed hissed. "Nothing is going to happen! I'm not going to die! I'm not going to leave my brother!"

"Your mother died. I'm sure that was the last thing that she intended, to leave you boys on your own."

Ed's chest physically ached as if the colonel punched him.

"You bastard," Ed said, low and dangerous, gripping the back of the chair he'd been sitting on so hard that the knuckles on his left hand turned white. He tipped his head forward so that his bangs would mask the tears that were forming in his eyes, but the thickness of his voice betrayed him anyway. "Why are you doing this to me?"

Mustang held up his hands in a placating gesture, like Ed was some kind of skittish wild animal. "You're smart, Fullmetal, but you still think you're invincible. You haven't lived long enough to find out that you're not."

Ed was fuming. He felt heat rise to his cheeks. He looked up, not caring if the colonel saw how red his eyes were. He crossed his left arm over his chest and rubbed where his automail right arm met the stump of his shoulder. "I know I'm not invincible. I didn't need a stupid chest cold to remind me."

Mustang chose his next words carefully. "I apologize, Ed. You and your brother have been through a lot more than most people your age. But that being said I still think that you're putting too much faith in your own abilities. It's grisly, having to consider your own mortality, but that is part of being an adult and a soldier. As I said before the welfare of my subordinates is one of my top priorities. Most of the soldiers who serve under me have families, homes, and people outside of the military that they can rely on. At the very least they have a will, but not you."

"A will is a will. You're talking about something else."

"In your case there's a lot more gray area that needs covering."

Ed looked down, concentrating on the carpet. He stayed that way for a long time, watching the pattern grow blurry and listening to the roaring sound of his own labored breathing.

Finally, Mustang grew tired of waiting for him to move. "Listen, Edward, as far as the state is concerned you and your brother are emancipated minors. You make decisions for yourself. Your guardian only has whatever rights and responsibilities you choose to give them."

"Guardian…" Ed said slowly, tasting the word.

"You have a problem with the title? How about medical proxy? Power of attorney. It's up to you what to call it."

"And they only help with what I say? They don't get to tell me where to go or what to do?"

"You don't get enough of that in the military?" Mustang asked wryly.

Ed didn't respond to the joke. "And if I just want help with the hard stuff, like dealing with hospitals and making sure that Al has money…"

"Write it down. Be as specific as you want," Mustang invited him. "You can even use my pen."

Mustang held the writing utensil out toward him.

Ed reached for it, and then hesitated. "I don't want anyone to do anything that will stop Al and me from getting our bodies back… but I can't write that down, can I?" Ed realized.

"I wouldn't advise it."

"This won't do us much good, then."

"You'll just have to choose someone who knows your goals, and then trust them."

Trust. Why was that so hard?

Ed took Mustang's pen with his left hand. His fingers were shaking.

A thought occurred to Ed. "This is a lot of responsibility. What if I pick someone and they won't sign?"

"Adults are used to responsibility," Mustang explained.

But Ed still hesitated, pen poised above the paper.

"They'll sign," Mustang assured him. "Just put a name down and they'll sign. I'll make sure of it."

"I'll probably never need this, right? I mean it's just going to get buried in some file somewhere unless… you know."

"That's the general idea, Fullmetal."

Ed took a breath and then he pressed the pen against the document and began to write. He made his strokes slowly and deliberately, with the care of someone who wasn't born left-handed.

Ed pressed the pen hard into the paper, so hard that he left a faint impression of the name in the surface of the desk. The name stayed, even after Colonel Mustang transferred back to Central and another Colonel took his place, even after that colonel served his time and left as well, and the colonel after him replaced the office furniture and donated the desk to a public school, where it sat in the principal's office and took up an inordinate amount of space. On the rare occasion that the desk was clear of paperwork the principal could see the name etched on the surface, but she dismissed it as vandalism, something scratched by a mischievous student during an unsupervised moment. Out of curiosity she eventually checked the school roster, but couldn't find any record of a "Roy Mustang".

In the present, in a spacious office above the parade grounds at Eastern headquarters, Edward Elric slid the signed document across the desk and Colonel Roy Mustang accepted it. Ed was on his feet and headed to retrieve his coat before the colonel could read the name he'd written down. When he did, he smiled.

"Fullmetal."

Ed stopped, but he didn't turn around.

"My hope is that we never need this document."

"Uh huh, me to," Ed agreed off-handedly, reaching for his coat.

"And Fullmetal..."

There was a pause.

"Yeah?"

Then the colonel said, with obvious difficulty, "I'm glad that you're alright. Welcome back."

Ed had never been so relieved that the colonel couldn't see his face and would never know the elation that those few words stirred in him.

"Thanks," Ed said stiffly.

"Al is waiting for you at the dorms. Get some rest, and then report to the infirmary in the morning." Mustang's voice was accompanied by the sound of unnecessary paper shuffling.

"Yes sir," Ed replied.

But he didn't turn around to salute, and Mustang didn't make him.

As Ed left the colonel's office he felt like a weight had been lifted off of his shoulders, something he hadn't even been aware of until it was gone.

END.

* * *

Thank you for reading and a big thanks to those of you who have left me feedback along the way.

If you enjoyed this story, please let me know. If you didn't, well, you can let me know that too, just in a nice way.

Thank you again.


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